


The Private Journal of Lysa Tully

by silverandviolet



Series: Paradigm Shifts [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diary/Journal, Epistolary, F/M, Family, Gen, House Tully, ISOT, Modern Perspective, Pre - Robert's Rebellion, in which lysa is not crazy, personality change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverandviolet/pseuds/silverandviolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I lived a different life for sixteen years before I became Lysa Tully. One day I was a high school sophomore, and the next, the second daughter of the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. This is my story.</p><p>or,</p><p>An AU told through the modern eyes of Hoster Tully's middle child, leading up to the events of the Tourney at Harrenhal. First part in a series. Collaboration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**July 2, 2014  
Week 41, 280 AC**

Let me be clear about this: I don't know how I got here. Yesterday, I was at the family house in California, enjoying the summer. I left the house for my daily evening run after it was dark and my earphones were intact (I was listening to the new Bastille album - they'd more than grown on me in the last couple of days). I remember a car hitting me. Then the world went black, and I thought I died.

But I hadn't died. I wake up in a beautifully decorated room and for a moment I entertain the thought of it being heaven. Then there is a sharp pain in my head and when I regain consciousness, I know that something very, very weird has happened to me.

I am in the body of a thirteen year old - a _thirteen_ year old! I am sixteen. Not thirteen!  
  
I also have flowing red hair - which I know for a fact that I don't. I have always been a blonde. What has happened to me?  
  
A girl about fourteen or fifteen chooses that moment to appear. She calls me Lysa - do I  _look_  like a Lysa?!  
  
But I am Lysa, as it turns out. I have all this new information in my head that I still have to come to terms with. Names and places that should mean nothing to me but in fact, do. Catelyn Tully. Hoster Tully. Edmure Tully. Minisa Whent. Petyr Baelish. Septa Myana. Riverrun. Westeros. Harrenhal. The Trident. Maidenpool. King's Landing.  
  
I don't know what happened to me. One moment I am Maria Gray and the next I am Lysa Tully, daughter to Lord Hoster, the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands in this continent called Westeros. One moment I am sixteen; the next I am barely more than thirteen. I now have two siblings: Catelyn, the girl who alerted me to being Lysa, and Edmure, who is still quite small. My mother, Minisa Tully, died a few years ago in childbirth. My father is a respected lord and he seeks to make himself stronger my marrying all three of his children to different noble families on the continent.  
  
He has already arranged a match between Catelyn and a boy called Brandon Stark, who is the heir to the most powerful northern seat called Winterfell. That is why Catelyn came in to call me - some outriders had spotted her betrothed making his way to Riverrun to be our guest. She wanted to tell me to quickly get dressed so we could stand by the gates to greet him.  
  
I instinctively walk to the place I now know is my wardrobe, and wear a simple dress in blue and red, which are the Tully House colours. Cat and I will never be mistaken for anyone else, I think: we are living endorsements for the House with our blue eyes and red hair.  
  
The dress is not much to my liking - I have never really worn loose clothes such as this. In high school, it was either those little black dresses or jeans. I feel unusual, but comfortable nonetheless.  
  
The lack of hygiene products is to be expected, but it still disheartens me. It irks me to wake up and have a bath (not a shower) without brushing my teeth. The soap is less like soap and more like a bar of detergent. Shampoo is non-existent.  
  
I know my way around Riverrun. Finding the gates takes little time, and my now-father and now-brother are waiting there with Catelyn. Brandon Stark appears on horseback some time later, and he is a handsome man I suppose. More brawn than brain - that is what I feel, personally, but I am not one to judge. Catelyn is. She seems to like him well enough.  
  
He is eighteen, and he tells us loudly of how he is fostered at a place called Barrowton, in the North. He has a few companions with him, among which notable are Willam Dustin (the heir to the Barrow Hall, at Barrowton) and Jeffory Mallister, who is from Seagard in Lord Hoster's province. I find them far better company than Brandon - he is loud, boastful, and arrogant, everything I don't like in a boy. I hold my tongue and don't say anything.  
  
Petyr Baelish, I find later on, is a boy fostered by my lord father himself, and has a thing for Catelyn. During the feast that is held to welcome Brandon Stark, this boy gets drunk and nearly challenges the guest of honor to a duel. Foolish Baelish gets yelled at by Cat, and scurries away to his rooms. No one else follows. That is, incidentally, the highlight of the evening. Brandon and his friends laugh about it all evening and little Edmure giggles with them, too.  
  
I am silent for most part, which I am later told by my lord father is most unlike me. I tell him that since Catelyn is soon to get married, it is time for me to grow up and be a woman. He gives me a warm smile. I don't know why, but I smile back. It is a nice moment, I suppose.  
  
I don't know how long I am going to be here. I don't know what is happening back home. I don't know how my family is doing; how my friends are doing. Am I really dead back home? How is Mom coping? I keep asking myself these questions.

There is no answer to them.


	2. One

**August 4, 2014  
Week 45, 280 AC**

Riverrun is a good place to live in. It is approximately west of center in the Riverlands, which in turn is approximately in the center of Westeros. True to the name, it has rivers flowing everywhere - Riverrun, as a matter of fact, is a triangular castle surrounded by two rivers, the Tumblestone and the Red Fork, and on the third side lies a man-made ditch. It is a more or less impregnable castle, what with it being able to turn into a three-cornered island if need be. It is a beautiful home. The innumerable rooms are great to explore despite my memories of the past Lysa knowing all of them already.

There are multiple gods in this world I have come to be, as I can gather from books and everything in my head. The 'Faith of the Seven' is the primary religion, brought by the culture of Andals to Westeros (Aryans?). It speaks of the seven aspects of gods, the Mother, Father, Maiden, Crone, Smith, Warrior and Stranger. They have a holy book akin to the Bible, 'the Seven-Pointed Star' and their places of worship are called septs, and I have been to one of them here in Riverrun. Holy men and women are called septons and septas, the latter of which act as governesses to noble children. Septa Myana is the governess in charge of Catelyn, Edmure and I. She is a nice enough woman, if a bit over-zealous. Can't blame a person for their beliefs, though.

The other major religion is that of the 'Old Gods', followed by a primitive race called the 'Children of the Forest' and later the 'First Men'. They are more pagans than anything else - worshiping trees and nature, without set rules or laws or holy books to follow. This faith is followed mostly north of the Riverlands, with some noble Houses following it in the east and House Blackwood here in the Riverlands. We do have a godswood in Riverrun, but mostly it is used as a garden. Catelyn and I have taken to spending time there talking. I am have never been a religious person but I don't know - it might even change the longer I am here, if at all.

Speaking of the North, Brandon Stark left around a week ago. My first opinion of him stands; he seems more the arrogant jock kind than anything else. Catelyn, though, is enamored with him. The fool has her wrapped around his finger! She seems ready to wed him, which is all well and good for her I suppose (though she will probably regret this stage when her marriage fails) but to all of these gods I hope that whichever man Lord Hoster picks for me will not be so bad. It is an eventuality that as Lysa I have to get married for House Tully can form alliances but all I can wish for is that this future betrothed (fiance) of mine is a better person than Brandon Stark.

I don't even think this northern lordling is pleased with the match. His friends, Willam Dustin of Barrowton and Jeffory Mallister of Seagard were particularly intoxicated one night and speaking of visiting prostitutes to my dismay (more commonly known as whores) when I somehow overheard them talking about their friend and his feigned interest in Catelyn Tully. They even mentioned a girl called Barbrey 'the shrew' "hidden away in the Rills", which has actually left me concerned. I may know this sister of mine for only a month, but she seems like a very good person and from what I can tell, she was the one most like a mother in Riverrun after Minisa Tully passed away. I am considering warning her but I am not certain about how she will react.

Edmure enjoyed himself with Stark too, playing at being his squire in the practice yards. Catelyn laughed while I frowned - not the best role model one could have. I have known him, too, for only a month but he really does feel like a little sibling to me. I play with him when we aren't in lessons or when I am not helping manage the household. I've told him plenty of stories I remember - from a highly adapted Harry Potter (we are currently around Prisoner of Azkaban territory) and Dracula when he asked for a scary story. The heir to Riverrun is a sweet boy, if a little naive. He is also highly caring, for everyone and not just the family. I think he will grow to be a good lord.

Petyr Baelish, the ward at Riverrun, at first looked a bit foolish and flustered with a major crush on Catelyn, but as I've found out he is pretty smart. He is good with numbers and accounts, though not as good as me (clearly all the hours of calculus haven't worn out yet) which irked him very much. He nosily came and asked me how I had become so good overnight, at which I laughed and mumbled a reply but he wasn't convinced. Far too observant for his own good. I befriended him soon enough after I caught him red-handed sneaking into the Lord's solar. He is the son of a very, very minor landholder far east in 'the Fingers' and nearly everyone in Riverrun calls him 'Littlefinger' for that and his small stature. After much prodding on my side - I figured I would pay him back for his interrogations - he finally disclosed that he doesn't want to live a poor life like his father, and instead rise above his present rank. I can understand that. I remember an Asian friend of mine who repeatedly told me how her parents never forgot to mention "Look how far we have come from where we used to be, you better not let our efforts waste," after a test of hers came back with a lesser grade than expected. Petyr then asked me if I would help him when I was older and a Lady of some keep in the Seven Kingdoms to gain a good enough post. I readily agreed. He is a worthy enough boy, intelligent and mature even at fourteen. He would have become a great businessman in New York, I think. Sometimes I spend time with him in the library, and he tells me all sorts of incidents in old Ghiscari courts (comparable to Moghuls I think) and how politics played a major part in them.

Other than that I have taken to reading so as to know more and more about this world I have woken up in. For now I am focused on browsing the Houses and places in Westeros, and there are a few history books stacked in my chambers, too. I can say for certain that this is a far more interesting pastime than the knitting and sewing which Septa Myana and Catelyn force me to engage in. Saying that I am terrible at it is an understatement. Playing the harp is well enough, singing is even fun sometimes, dancing I can endure, but embroidery feels like far too much. I would rather sit and go through an account of the conquest of Westeros by the Targaryen siblings and the Baratheon half-brother. I have never much liked the idea of conquering another territory just for personal gain and these dragonlords seem so full of themselves and so purely disgusting that I turn up nose every time the King, Aerys II, is mentioned. The Targaryens conquered the seven kingdoms of Westeros two hundred and eighty years ago atop dragons (the idea of which is highly mind-blowing though, I admit) and married brother to sister, uncle to niece for most of them. Even the current monarch is a product of inbreeding, and in addition his heir is the very same. I can recall biology lessons where it was drilled into every student's minds that genetics can get very, very complicated when it comes to incestuous relationships. More times than not the children have a deformity, either physical or mental. I can recall some of the recessive genes brought to the fore even now due to this: low fertility, facial asymmetry, low immunity, stunted growth. It is a wonder that these people, descended from Valyrian slavers, are still considered beautiful and godly in their features. Madness, though, does seem to run in them.

Valyria in general I have a low opinion about - an empire built on slavery is enough to be disgusting. For all its continuous territory battles in the past, Westeros has a strict no-no policy about slaves. Thank goodness for that. The discrimination and misogyny is rampant but then again, I suppose both of those are present in every world. I remember my sophomore year history teacher talking about how there will always be boundaries in society, and those willing enough to cross them. Someone who  _does_ seem willing to cross boundaries? Lord Hoster's brother Ser Brynden Tully. He is a knight famous for aiding the end of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and will soon be arriving in Riverrun with his squire, a cousin called Marq Whent who is to be knighted soon. This is a man who acts more like a hedge knight and traveler than anyone else. Everyone here knows about his innumerable fights with his brother about his unwillingness to marry. That is someone who defied tradition, someone I really am curious to meet. From what I have heard he has a more modern outlook, which will be interesting to experience firsthand. My knowledge about the world will only increase, in any case.


	3. Two

**September 4, 2014  
Week 50, 280 AC**

Brynden Tully is, for lack of a better word, a badass.

I was right in thinking that he seemed to have a more modern outlook. He is totally the cool uncle of the family, complete with his tales of war and travel, exotic gifts, and kind, understanding nature. I have realized that he is more a father figure to us than Lord Hoster, who went into a shell once Minisa Tully passed away. He encourages Catelyn's art, Edmure's sword training and my 'newfound' interest in books. He told us exploits of his and his squire, Cousin Marq, across the Narrow Sea in the Free City of Braavos. He apparently did a tenure there as a city guard just for the experience - a more free-willing man I have not heard of before in my time in Westeros. Lord Hoster snapped at him more than once at supper, especially while we were celebrating Catelyn's birthday ('nameday'), and asked him to stop encouraging us children into his wild lifestyle. That descended into a bitter fight, with accusations and events from the past flying across the table while Cat, Edmure, Petyr and I slipped out of the Hall with nineteen-year old Marq Whent.

There's so much that has happened in the past month, though. For one, the friendship between myself and my sister is hanging loose on a wire. We were talking in the godswood one day when she spoke about how her precious Brandon had not replied to her past two letters. I happened to suggest that  _perhaps_ he did not want to, that perhaps he was not as into her as he showed himself as being. I hinted upon overhearing his friends and even suggested that 'Barbrey the shrew' was his girlfriend up north, and I think it came as a highly rude shock to Catelyn. She had probably not even considered this before. In any case, I was berated about my unkind words - never mind that I was only being a concerned sister - and spoken to by her only when absolutely necessary.

On her birthday I planned surprise dishes from my bookish knowledge of seafood and gifted her with a delicate bracelet I had the goldsmith make. It was an ingenious idea, really, representing the seven gods she is so devoted to with faces of people in Riverrun. I thought it would be a good betrothal present. The goldsmith luckily remembered what Minisa Tully looked like, so he carved her face as the Mother goddess's. Lord Hoster was carved as the Father, Uncle Brynden as the Warrior, myself as the Maiden, Septa Myana as the Crone and Edmure as the Smith. Still, however much Catelyn liked the jewelry, she is still a bit wary of me. When I told Uncle Brynden about this all he said was, "It is not what you said that hurt your sister so much, it is how you said it that did." I even asked if it was possible to break the betrothal, for Cat's own good, but apparently it is a holy contract and Lord Hoster would never consider it. He sees the charm and the standing of Brandon, but not the vices underneath. It is a political match besides. Political matches next to never involve love. I had to back down after understanding the reality of the situation, but it still upsets me how Cat is being traded like a broodmare and actually likes the man. Uncle Brynden reminded me that one day I will likely find myself in her shoes, too. Dear god, I hope not.

Someone who  _would_ actually be a good husband to her? Uncle Brynden's former squire, Marq Whent. He is a quiet nineteen-year old, but he has become a great friend to me of late. Marq is my first cousin - Minisa Tully's elder sister, Shella Whent's third son. He tells me I look very much like his mother, while Catelyn looks very much like his younger sister Anisa, both of them in turn sharing the likeness of Minisa Whent-Tully. His family occupies the 'haunted' castle of Harrenhal to the south-east of Riverrun. I found him in the library after supper one night alone, reading a book called  _Secret City_ detailing Braavosi history. Ever since then we have taken to reading together and even debating some interesting portions of history. Petyr disapproves of this friendship, complaining that "He is only a third son, what use will he ever be," but sometimes I think he is just jealous. Cat is entirely helping the steward with the household and with me spending time with Marq, he gets bored alone. 

The entire 'third son' bit got me thinking of inheritance laws in the Seven Kingdoms, some of which are simple while some, I admit, are quite ridiculous. In most of the territories sons are before daughters, and daughters before uncles, which is fair enough. Dornish have the best laws - eldest child regardless of gender - which makes me very eager to visit the place. Targaryen laws are where it gets highly complicated. I read about the 'Dance of Dragons', a civil war that broke out due to a succession crisis and ended up destroying half the realm (an indirect consequence of inbreeding, I think, and of the arrogance of these dragonlords). The 'Queen that Never Was' Rhaenys Targaryen plays an interesting role in this conflict; a woman passed over not once but  _twice_  because of only that: being a woman. Queen Rhaenyra later had been her father's preferred heir, but a damned Lord Commander of the Kingsguard decided to take matters into his own hands crown her half-brother. In the end it was her son who sat the Iron Throne, but the nobles by then hated women being in power so much that no change in succession laws could be made and it was loosely believed that every single male descendant is put before a female, to ensure that there is never a woman wearing a crown. Everything would have worked out better if the king chose his heir himself, regardless of birth order and his nobles' wishes, and made sure that no one else could sit the throne after his death. 

Cousin Marq, either way, says that he does not much care for becoming a future Lord Whent. His elder twin brothers, Edwell and Orwell, are unmarried as of now but once they have sons he will be free to do what he wishes. He is thinking about joining the Night's Watch, which is a sworn brotherhood of celibate men that mans a humongous structure on the northern border called only the 'Wall'. It seems utterly impossible for this Wall to be seven hundred feet tall but every book about this subject matter insists that it is the case. It is not explicitly given anywhere  _what_ the Night's Watch protects the realm from, but Marq told me that they drive out wildling invaders from beyond the boundaries, who are basically something like Himalayan tribes. That is the only comparison I can think of, truth be told. _  
_

The part of me skeptical about the Wall is also highly intrigued by the cycle of seasons in this world. Currently it is the winter, and the year is nearing its end, so that in itself is not so absurd. Yet when you take in consideration that summer can last years and winter even longer, it unsettles me. I had never done geology or anything of the sort in high school. I know that seasons are due to the tilt of the planet and the effect of the moon, so if the planet Westeros is on has irregular seasons, does it mean it has an irregular tilt? Too many moons perhaps, some not visible to the naked eye? There is no proof to my theories, of course. There is only one moon in the sky I see above Riverrun, and no other reasoning I can think of.

Lord Hoster has left Uncle Brynden as castellan of Riverrun while he settles a dispute between the Brackens and the Blackwoods, two very Montague-Capulet-esque Houses. They are currently fighting over a piece of land granted by King Aegon IV to the House Blackwood from House Bracken as a favor to one of his countless mistresses and a snub to another. Which brings me again to my inheritance laws point - the way things currently stand, the most unworthy contender might sit on the throne regardless of how much better his sibling is. Aemon the Dragonknight, Aegon IV's brother, had been a fighter and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard while Aegon had been a man who preferred prostitutes over politics and incessant drinking over the ruling. By all accounts he was the source of numerous Westerosi wars. When I brought this up with Marq, however, the first thing he told me was that knowing the Brackens and Blackwoods, they would have found something else to fight over. Yep, this is definitely reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet. Later we discussed bastardy and how Aegon IV literally destroyed the country because he chose to fornicate outside his marital bed. It is not even an uncommon thing, with many Houses all over Westeros having bastard members with last names according to region (Rivers for the riverlands, Storm for the stormlands, Snow for the north, etc) - which is overall a silly custom, because why would you blame a child for their parents' misdeeds? 

The technology is so stagnant here that it is not even funny, and a part of me is getting very exhausted about this. I have a feeling that this has something to do with the seasons, as with years of winter and hoarding goods and a constant redundant lifestyle, people may not see the room for innovation. I wish I had paid more attention in physics and chemistry than I did; I might have been able to make a significant difference. Still, I will try working with what I already know.


	4. Three

**October 3, 2014  
** **Week 2, 281 AC**

A letter arrived in Riverrun a few days ago, written in Marq's father's hand. Lord Walter Whent is not  _technically_ a lord of anything; he is the descendant of one of younger sons of a previous Lord Whent while Marq's mother is the direct descendant of the eldest son (as Minisa Tully was while she lived). Lady Shella having no brother, it was her who inherited the lands and incomes of House Whent, and so that no other House got a claim to Harrenhal, married one of her two remaining distant cousins. The other cousin, Ser Oswell, is now the member of the Kingsguard, and according to Marq, visited his family castle only a few months ago. Something about the timing of this visit, I am told, is suspicious with regards to what the letter actually conveyed: that a grand tourney is to be held at Harrenhal around the end of the year.

From what I have read and heard, a tourney seems like the only thing remotely close to sports in Westeros. Showcasing the brute strength of men with some amount of pageantry at the side is more or less what a tourney is all about. There was a huge list of events enclosed with the invitation and a list of the prizes for the winner and runners-up for each. Jousting is the highest ranked and according to Marq the most anticipated, basically a set of draws where each of the two players attempts to shove the other off of horseback using a lance. Precisely why anyone would think that fun is beyond me. Anyway, the winner of the entire event is given a fat bag of gold coins and a crown of flowers that he must bestow upon his 'Queen of Love and Beauty'. Usually these knights crown their mothers, sisters or wives (the Kingsguard choose the Queen, as Marq says his Uncle Oswell did at a past King's Landing tourney) but there is always a fool who crowns an unknown woman he is smitten with. Whether concerned woman  _wants_  the man's attention or not is certainly not thought about, stupid as this world is.

The other prominent events are archery, which I can agree with, and the melee, which I absolutely cannot. The latter is a glorified battlefield, with the last man standing in the arena unscathed declared winner. Never mind the chance that people might  _die_ in the crossfire. Marq only laughs his quiet, somewhat exasperated-yet-amused laugh whenever I mention this, saying that it is a years old tradition and tourneys are something everyone likes. A chance to meet other nobility and enjoy the lists, cheering on family members and generally having a good time. Still, he confided in me that he is doubtful of the reason given for the tourney - to find his sister, Anisa, a husband. "My beloved sister needs no tourney for that, not if Theomar Smallwood's relentless visits to Harrenhal are an indication. Besides, our castle is a monstrous thing, hard to maintain even with the money we have. Not in the seven hells could House Whent afford the prizes being offered, not unless my lord father has discovered gold mines underneath while I've been gone," is his argument.

As it is, he will likely have to leave Riverrun soon. I keep begging him not to, but who am I to stop him when his father will send a raven (something continually reminding me of Harry Potter and the owls, let it be said) demanding his return?

At least I won't be entirely bereft of company in the event of that. Lord Hoster came back from Raventree Hall along with the source of the recent dispute, a Bracken cousin called Shirei Rivers. She is a fiery sixteen-year old; the illegitimate daughter of a younger son of House Bracken. Lord Tytos Blackwood demanded that she be banished from the Riverlands after all the trouble she caused his family, what with encroaching on their lands and setting up booby traps in one of their farms. Lord Jonos Bracken maintained that she had done nothing wrong after one of the Raventree knights insulted her. It all ended when Lord Hoster agreed to take on Shirei as his ward and not let her around Blackwood lands again. Lord Bracken was told that she would serve as a companion to myself and Catelyn while Lord Blackwood was told that she would be punished as a handmaiden and servant of Catelyn, or something like that.

Shirei is just as sharp-tongued and independent as her reputation claims. She doesn't get along much with my sister, owing to the fact that their personalities are two opposite sides of a coin, but she is a good enough friend to me. I heard her account of the insults paid to her by the Raventree knight and for one thing, I am somewhat relieved that she retaliated. It was not just some words about her 'baseborn' status, as a Rivers instead of a Bracken, but also slut-shaming and catcalling thrown in. Marq heard the entire incident and only asked whether the knight who was responsible for commenting on Shirei was directly affected by her revenge, to which she replied in negative but insisted it wasn't that particular man, instead all of House Blackwood that had to be punished. At this Marq and her had a long argument about whether she truly did what she did because of the insults, or because she wanted to prove herself as a real member of House Bracken by harassing their nemeses. Needless to say, the two of them trade biting remarks every time they are in the same room. It would actually be something fun to witness, very much reminiscent of some American comedy shows, if only they didn't do it so very  _often_. 

Catelyn disapproves, of course. We are civil with each other, talk to each other sometimes during lessons with the Septa (which for the record are kind of primitive versions of Health period, religion class and family-rearing workshops rolled into one). However, nothing much beyond that. I kind of miss our chats in the godswood but if she isn't ready to accept what I told her about Brandon Stark, I don't know what else I can do. While I understand that Lord Hoster is not likely to cancel the betrothal for no rhyme or reason, Catelyn is his favorite daughter. The one reminding him most of his wife. If she tells him that she is uncomfortable with her betrothed, surely he will at least consider it? I don't know. When I complained to Marq about this, he told me that (a) I might be wrong about Stark and (b) my sister is most probably not appreciative of my constant remarks regarding him. I only feel defeated.

Petyr grows quieter by the day. He finds both Shirei and Marq distasteful and trails around Catelyn many a times. Edmure gets very angry when he sees this - "Cat's  _my_ sister, not _yours_ , Littlefinger!" - and I have half a mind to confront my foster brother about his affections for my sister. I don't know how likely he is to listen to me, yet... He was a companion to me before Marq arrived and I owe him my honesty though it is clearly visible that he can be stubborn as a mule when it comes to Catelyn. The glint in his eyes when he looks at her sometimes... It unnerves me. I have promised myself that if I catch him glancing at her wrongly one more time, I will speak to him about it, however uncomfortable that may prove to be. I am no one to protest if he loves her, but with Petyr it feels somewhat unnatural. It feels like something walking the thin line between adoration, infatuation and obsession.

On another note, Lord Hoster intends to visit Casterly Rock - the capital of the Westerlands region - next month. It is the seat of the Lannister family, and it was hinted subtly that this is not just any visit; a betrothal between me and Lord Lannister's heir may be on the cards. Marq has briefly seen the boy Lord Hoster wishes to sell me to, and has lukewarm feelings about him. He is around fourteen (not much older, thank goodness for that) and apparently a very good fighter, proven when he won his first tourney melee last year. I tried to protest this potential marriage, stating that I am too young and have never met Jaime Lannister, at which I got snapped at crudely. Septa Myana has been told to "keep a close eye" on me and teach me "how to uphold the Tully words" as I am "getting out of hand".

Uncle Brynden later told me that he understood where I was coming from, but reminded me that this is a world where marrying because you respect someone, let alone love them, is a distant dream. "If I had married the woman I loved, we likely would not be having this conversation," he said. That got me curious and I asked him who it was that he had loved, and what was it that held him back. I got no reply, only a sad smile and "You're a good girl, Lysa, but don't lose yourself in search of something that may never be possible." Marq consoled me that Lord Hoster is only doing what he thinks is the best for me. But really, how is he going to know what is the best for me if he doesn't even heed my opinion?


	5. Four

**Novermber 1, 2014  
** **Week 6, 281 AC**

Minstrels and singers flooded the halls of Riverrun earlier this month, telling us something we already know from the capital’s ravens – Princess Elia, the wife of the Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, gave birth near the end of last year. Rhaenys is the name of the child, and it is said that she has more Dornish features than Valyrian. Dark skin, warm eyes, none of that unnaturally creepy silver and violet. The way these Targaryens are described everywhere and by everyone… I’m sure they must be some sight to behold, but I feel more indifferent and apathetic towards them than awed. Their history only makes me roll my eyes harder. People who think themselves above all others; their ego so large that it might even cover the entire continent of Essos if measured – no, I am not fond of the monarchs. Shirei told me what every person whispers when they think no one is listening; that when a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin and the entire world holds its breath to see whether it lands on greatness or madness. Marq scolded Shirei when we were joking about it around the training yards, saying that he’d rather her not corrupt me. That quickly descended into a battle of crude remarks and accusations, but afterwards in the privacy of the godswood my cousin reminded me that it is treasonous to speak against the king’s family. “Be ever careful of what you say, Lysa,” he warned me. “Words can be twisted and turned into something they are not, just as iron can be melted from a crown to form a sword. The master of whisperers, I’ve heard, has his spies everywhere. Yes, even here in Riverrun. If there is only one thing I’ve learnt from being your uncle’s squire on his travels, it is that the man who sits the throne is not entirely a sane person. You must watch your tongue lest what comes out of your mouth may quickly become your enemy.” Ever the wise one.

Aerys Targaryen the Second is a person very much off the rocker, it seems. One of the minstrels mentioned that he had not been his self since the last revolt against him, refusing to even attend his own son’s wedding. I questioned Maester Vyman then about the Defiance of Duskendale, which happened around three or four years ago at a town on the eastern coast of Westeros. This town was ruled by the Darklyns, Lord Denys and his Essosi wife, Lady Serala something-or-the-other. They approached the king to grant them a charter that could make Duskendale a larger port; one to rival King’s Landing even. They were denied this by the Hand of the King (Vice President, more or less). It is unclear whether he did it off his own accord or by the orders of King Aerys, but either way, the Darklyns and their neighbors, the Hollards, stopped paying their taxes in protests. One thing led to another and when the king went personally to their lands to sort things out, they kidnapped him (at this point in the story, I almost laughed. How do you manage to  _kidnap_ a king out of the blue like that?) Eventually a Kingsguard freed him only after six months in captivity. The enraged Targaryen showed just how merciless and mad he was when he condemned every Darklyn and Hollard to death – every woman and every child save for one single baby. Even people who had nothing to with Lord Denys and Lady Serala’s schemes were put to the sword. It is something so utterly barbaric and sickening that I lost my appetite that day.

This was around the time Lord Hoster left for Casterly Rock, so when I mentioned my disgust quietly to Uncle Brynden (left castellan once more) and Marq (acting deputy captain of guards) before supper the next day, the two exchanged brief, uneasy glances. I asked them both what it was, but they left the scene citing other work before giving me a proper response. After both of them ignored me for close to two days –  _two days_! - I approached Shirei and even Catelyn, but they had no idea what it could be about. Eventually it was Petyr who revealed all, having heard the tale from a scullery maid’s mason husband, and it made me feel even worse than before.

Tywin Lannister is a monster. I mean it. There is even a  _song_ written about how frightening he is. This is the man Lord Hoster wishes to make my father-in-law (‘good-father’) and while I know that no one should be judged by the sins of their father, what’s to say he hasn’t schooled his heir in the same principles he holds close?

Many years ago, two Houses named Reyne and Tarbeck refused to pay back the loans they had taken from the Lannisters. In retaliation, this man called his armies and destroyed the families from root to stem. Man, woman, child… All gone. He left no one alive. I can understand that he felt the need to punish those responsible; but is imprisonment never an option? What about those too young to understand what their families had done? Even them? For what, vengeance? Is this the sort of justice they preach in this world? Petyr explained to me that it was done so that none of those children could grow up and decide to avenge their dead family. So to prevent that, they are murdered? How is that even fair?

I didn’t speak to Marq for days after that. How could he not deem this important enough to tell me? I forgave him grudgingly only after he admitted that Lord Hoster had made everyone who knew anything about the Lannisters to swear to the gods to stay mum about it in front of me. Clearly he had predicted my response and still gone on with his plans to organize my marriage to a murderer’s son. What kind of father does that make him?

Surprise of surprises – Catelyn was the first to really console me about this revelation. She held me in her arms as I ranted, and in the heat of the moment I pleaded to her to not marry Brandon Stark. “He won’t ever let you be happy,” I told her. “He is not someone who would be a good husband to you.” To that Cat sighed and said that she couldn’t break Lord Hoster’s heart by denying him this; it was her duty to wed into the Starks and that she would do. It means very much to Father that one day his grandson will rule as the Lord of Winterfell, and besides, “Who says I need a husband to be happy?” said Cat. “There are other things in life that I can be content with. Children, for one.”

She is a brave girl, I have realized. Brave in that she knows what she is getting into and is willing to do it anyway. I found myself apologizing to her before long and we hugged for what seemed like eternity. That, of course, doesn’t mean that we’re all one big happy family once more. Shirei and Catelyn are still not fond of each other; like I said, their personalities are two opposite sides of a coin that can never meet. Marq and Shirei snap at each other as often, if not more, than before – though it must be mentioned that in case Petyr tries to butt in, Marq always silently takes her side, every previous fight forgotten, as she shows my foster brother his place. Edmure dislikes Shirei for most part, but approves of Marq as he is a strong lance (boys, I say). Thus he, too, laughs seeing ‘Littlefinger’ flustered and fumbling.

I know, I know. It is bullying. However, like I said… The lusty looks he throws Cat’s way when he thinks no one is looking… They sometimes drive shivers up my spine. I have told Marq and Shirei to lay off to ease my conscious, but at the same time I also approached my sister and told her to not be too familiar with Petyr. She was oblivious to his affections. I think some part of her still is, but for my sake she holds him at more of a distance than before. Shirei approved of that, saying “It’s better to nip off the problem at its bud than let it grow into a weed and destroy the entire cultivation.” Marq, always the cautious one, reminded me to not be too harsh in my behaviour. “Yes, he’s a pest if there ever was one, but you’re becoming bolder and bolder by the day. That filthy horse may think otherwise, but not everyone in the world appreciates forwardness in women.” (‘That filthy horse’, for the record, is what he calls Shirei.)

More or less, things are normal at Riverrun. As normal as they could be. It’s still winter, cold as cold gets in the Riverlands, but snows seem to be receding. One of the younger washerwomen at the castle was revealed to be pregnant (“with the stable boy’s bastard,” apparently) and when Catelyn and Steward Wayn were conducting petitions in the Great Hall, I persuaded them to allow the girl to work until six weeks before becoming close to term and then working again a bit after giving birth. Unless I have recalled wrongly, that is how maternity leave works. The way I see it, I put up a good argument about it, but I have a strong feeling the steward is going to complain to Lord Hoster about this soon enough. Cat and Uncle Brynden told me gently that it was a good thing to do, but not everyone will see it that way. I knew just who they meant by ‘everyone’. He can see how much I care for his secretive self and opinions when he decides to stop negotiating my price as a bride and come back from Casterly Rock.


	6. Five

**December 5, 2014  
** **Week 11, 281 AC**

I am in so much trouble.

At this point, according to Lord Hoster, I have “developed unusual notions, turned rebel, assisted thievery, started playing knight-and-maiden with Ser Marq, encouraged the servants to take their overlord for granted and decided to grant favors to vassals with allegiances to half the keeps in the Seven Kingdoms.” Some of these accusations are not entirely wrong (while sorely exaggerated) but others are so ridiculously assumed and phrased that when I heard them I couldn’t help disputing them. Unfortunately, when a woman makes a mistake, her other actions are miraculously turned against her and soon there is nothing for her to defend herself with.

It started a month ago when Edmure and I came across two of the guards rounding up a sole crying woman. She was clad head to toe in rags, visibly shivering, and she had a squalling, malnourished boy in her arms. The scene was cringe-inducing and pitiful, so I asked the guards why exactly they were trying to arrest her. She had been caught trying to steal bread from the supply cart arrived from Maidenpool. “Prim, m’lady,” she told me her name. “No husband to house me, no coin to feed m’ poor Pate.”

How was I to know that my compassion and forgiveness would prove to be my undoing? I asked the guards to leave, and took Prim and her child to the kitchens to provide them with a meal for the evening. I found her to be a truly impoverished woman and as a result I asked one of my maids to house the two of them in the servants’ quarters for the night. When the sun rose the next morning, Prim and little Pate were gone, and with them every coin provided to the maids as salary the previous week.

Never have I seen Uncle Brynden so furious. He screamed and raged, seeing as how every maid had been deprived of her savings due to the guards’ carelessness and mine. It all fell upon him, as the castellan of Riverrun. Each of those maids, the ones I had always been kind to, looked upon me with contempt in their eyes and disregard in their behavior. The guilt and regret I felt has not faded away since.

Some guards that manned the gates were fired. Some that weren’t faced punishment. The one who stood by the servants’ quarters was imprisoned to be sent to the Wall. The money stored by each woman may not have been much, but altogether combined with the other maids’ bags of coins, it should have been noticeable on the person of a ragged female with an equally ragged boy. A considerable amount; considerable enough to have caused so much trouble.

I was handed out punishment, too, for interfering with the guards’ judgement the first time Prim had been caught for stealing. Edmure, Cat, Shirei and Marq were forbidden from seeing me for as long as ten days. “You did a careless thing by trusting a woman who had already stolen once before,” I was told. I accepted all the chastisement with grace and spent my confinement without protest in the company of a single volume of the series  _Black on Red_.

Soon after Uncle Brynden deemed that I was filled with enough remorse and allowed freedom of the keep, a knight named Ser Hosteen Frey arrived at Riverrun. He wore the sigil of the Twins, a castle located on a bridge across a river in the very north of the Riverlands. A sixth son of Lord Walder, he came bearing an invitation for a feast in his home celebrating multiple births in quick succession - of Petyr Frey, a grandson of the heir, Olyvar Frey, an eighteenth-odd son of the lord himself and two more girls of lesser members of the House.

Unaware of the tensions between Riverrun and the Crossing, I told Ser Hosteen when we ran into each other that I would most assuredly come to his home. I didn’t know that I had made a mistake then. “You look rather elegant today, my lady,” he complimented. “I sure do hope you shall attend the feast in our modest castle.” “Certainly I shall,” I smiled. I knew he was only being courteous with his words but I did not know that Uncle Brynden planned to snub the Freys. A satisfied Ser Hosteen left Riverrun to a disappointed (with me), perpetually frowning (at me) castellan.

As soon as the Lord’s retinue arrived home, each of us got a shouting. The steward’s lashing could be heard on another floor. Catelyn and Septa Myana were next, for not watching me. Marq came out of his uncle’s solar quieter and more solemn than before, telling me that I would know the reason soon enough. Uncle Brynden’s fight with Lord Hoster lasted far longer than the first three taken together. Edmure was greeted only with smiles and pride, thankfully, but then soon it was my turn.

If Uncle Bryden’s anger was bad, Lord Hoster’s was even worse. “You are not the girl I raised,” he said, not knowing how right he actually was. “You are not the girl who I watched Minisa play with as a child.”

I reminded him that not long ago, House Tully had once been mere vassals, too, and if an overlord is not gracious to his bannermen, then how is he to hope for their support? Clearly Lord Hoster was unprepared to face a sound argument and snapped at me for being “Brynden come again as a daughter”. I admitted my part in the woman Prim’s thievery, and told him that I was truly humbled by it, but that enraged him further. “Sorrow and pity for the smallfolk will hardly get you anywhere, girl,” was how he put it. “I have no need for Aegon the Unlikely in my own family.”

He is a harsh man. Cat says he wasn’t always like this; that while Minisa Tully had lived he had been a hearty, loving lord and father. That is not so any more. That person died with his wife and it is only a shell that remains.

Furthermore I was lectured about Marq.  _Marq_! Lord Hoster said that we were “deluding no one, not with those prolonged visits to the library and the godswood”. That really riled me up and I ended up arguing that not only is Marq five years older than me, but he is also my cousin. “Do you think that makes a  _difference_?” my ‘father’ wished to know. “I will not have you fooling around Riverrun with him. I have let Brynden have his way around here long enough; the boy leaves for Harrenhal at the earliest.”

I spoke out about how unfair the entire incident was, and asked if Lord Hoster really thought so lowly of me. Yes, I had made a mistake with Prim and her son Pate. Yes, I should have consulted Uncle Brynden before saying anything to Ser Hosteen. But why does Marq get punished for that? He is a good man, a good person. I have never so much as  _thought_ of him differently than one should think their family. I’m no Targaryen. I made that very clear, at which once more I was warned to discard every treasonous thought I had in mind.

Lord Hoster was eventually so angry that he nearly slapped me. Then, in a slightly calmer voice, he barked, “Get out. Now. Leave. I have no patience left to talk to you right now. Go.” I was more than happy to obey that command.

Three days ago I was called to his solar after a week or so of silent treatment. He told me that he had come to a decision. I would follow through with my promise to Hosteen Frey and attend the feast at the Twins; by the time I was back at Riverrun he would know for sure what to do with me. Uncle Brynden (who is more blunt and less cautious with me now) hinted that I may be sent as a lady-in-waiting or cupbearer to another keep. That came as a surprise, and a hollow defeat - I actually  _love_ it here in Riverrun. Dear god (or gods, as the Westerosi say), what have I done?

Everything around here is undergoing alterations. Shirei was reassigned by the steward and she barely has time to spend with me. Catelyn is busy often too, engrossed in her duties and whenever we are together, she seems more… refined, less Cat and more future Lady Stark. Her turn getting scolded by Lord Hoster sure affected her. Petyr is the same as before, but he’s not the breath of fresh air Shirei always is or the quiet reassurance I always feel with Marq.

I cried when he left. I may not have known this brown-haired, blue-eyed Whent for long, but it sure feels so. Lord Hoster utterly disliked the scene, but held himself together clearly with the satisfaction that Marq was leaving and if he had his way, we would not meet for many years. My cousin - more a brother, really - left me with a list of war books I must read (all the volumes of  _Black on Red_  included) and a list of questions I should ask myself after I am done. He insisted that it will help change my outlook about certain things and help me understand realities of the world better. I am some parts skeptical about this endeavour of his, but curious enough to do as he said.

Edmure was sad to see Marq go, too. A lot of us were. He just has that kind of personality. Even if you are not a friend of his, you can see how nice a person he really is. I will miss him. I hope Lord Hoster is wrong and I see him earlier rather than later. Letters are great, but nothing to compare with the man himself.

Uncle Brynden and I leave for the Crossing soon enough. I would say that my uncle is unhappy to leave Riverrun, but then I would be lying. He admitted that “Hoster Tully is a man best taken in small doses.” He’s looking forward to leaving, and avoiding the shouting that happens daily in the lord’s solar. I have to admit it will be enjoyable to see the rest of the Riverlands, but sometimes I want to hold on to the last few months and just stay in Riverrun. Lord Hoster will have made a decision about my future by the time the Freys’ feast ends. I don’t really want to go, now that I consider it - not if it means that once I am back, I will have to leave again. I hate change. Unfortunately, that’s all that seems to be happening around me now, and I have come to know that it is inevitable. As inevitable as the unease left by the realisation that I am right at the center of it.


	7. Six

**January 10, 2015  
** **Week 16, 281 AC**

Whatever else went wrong with this trip, I have to confess that I find the Riverlands a region of immense beauty. Rich and green, nature’s bounty, all that. That said, I _hate_ how slow travel is. Horse riding is not something I am utterly fond of, and certainly not the comfort or speed of cars. It is a pain. The fields of the Lord Hoster’s lands go on forever, and if it weren’t for the soothing scenery, I would have tired of the road much before we reached the Twins.

I have never been overly fond of the outdoors, but camping here is alright. It is neither as pleasant nor as smooth as I would have liked, but it has a certain charm to it. While in the day they rode more silently than not, at night all the guards would gather around the fire and swap stories. Uncle Brynden and I sat with them and listened. Often he would be persuaded to share some of his own experiences; the more mature ones he could not have spoken in Edmure’s presence. Sometimes he told the other knights past incidents when he thought I was asleep; I am certain eventually he found out I was overhearing but did not say a word.

War is a worse thing in Westeros than it ever was in America, I know that now. Everything is more intense here; the politics that surround the battlefield are complicated beyond imagination and the bloodshed and fighting creates more havoc than it should. The country turns into a playground where the toys are in fact sharp longswords and crossbows and battleaxes. Books talk of battle strategies and the behind-the-scenes manipulation of events, but they never speak of how the common people were made expendable in pursuit of victory. They never speak of the villages that were burnt; the innkeepers and farmers put to the sword for being a part of the lands of a rival. No man writes of the prostitutes that follow camp, the crofters’ wives raped for pleasure or the hundred-odd poor babies conceived because noblemen, their knights and freeriders decided they wanted female company while they rested between two skirmishes.

Even days later I am still processing all his information. It took me time to look at Uncle Brynden the same way again, but I know that he is one of the better men. There is no use blaming him for what his subordinates may or may not have done. The truths of this world are now slowly, steadily seeping through. Still, I pray to every god followed here that I may never have to live through a war. 

We stayed barely two days or so in Seagard on the way. It is a port town ruled by the Mallisters, of which I had already met Jeffory, the a younger brother of the ruler. Lord Jason welcomed us with splendour; when we gathered at the gates of the keep, it was as though half the household had come to greet us. It was overwhelming. I curtsied and smiled and even played with little Patrek, the heir, who reminded me so much of Edmure. Lady Mallister, a westerlander by birth, was the first real noble lady I met, and without doubt a gracious and eager host.

The distance between Seagard and the Crossing was nothing compared to that between Riverrun and Seagard. My relief at having finally reached the destination was washed out by the shock of the terrible welcoming we received. Uncle Brynden scowled and cursed and ranted about “the goddamn weasels”, and I saw just how right he was when we were presented before Lord Walder Frey - yes, presented, as though we were the vassals and he the overlord. The man is a weasel-faced, foul-brained, lusty-eyed silly fool. Those words fall short of describing him, actually. His speech is slurred and cruel; his gaze is penetrating and concupiscent; his family is rowdy and snivelling. And  _enormous_. As enormous as enormous can possibly get.

Uncle Brynden told me that Lord Hoster had once joked, “Walder Frey is the only lord in the Seven Kingdoms who can field an army from his breeches.” And holy hell is it true. The man talks of having sex like eating food and has a legion of descendants by the last name Rivers (who are nothing like Shirei), not to mention his thousand and one children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He is the ultimate social media meme; a man so disgusting he could put every rapist on earth to shame. 

I know now what Lord Hoster meant. The man has married off his offsprings to half the realm! It’s no wonder really, not since the Riverlands and its neighbours clearly don’t have enough brides and grooms for unmarried Freys. He’s begun looking towards Essos now, too, what with a Symond Frey married to a Braavosi. I now have begun thinking, in spite of myself, that Hoster Tully is so much of a better father than Walder Frey ever will be.

Lord Weasel is currently on his fifth wife ( _fifth_!), Lady Bethany, who feels like the best adult Frey around. She only recently gave birth to Olyvar, one of the boys the feast was conducted for. Her other sons, especially five-year old Perwyn, are a delight. Very different from the rest of their family.

The previous Lady of the Crossing was Lady Alyssa of House Blackwood, and her children are roughly my age. Morya is a year older while Tyta two years younger. I realised just how fortunate I was for not having been reborn a Frey when I spent time in their company - they chatter endlessly and pointlessly, go on and on about things of minimal consequence. All Morya talked about with me was which song I liked the most and which tourneys I had attended. It took everything in me to suppress my irritation and give them polite smiles as is expected of me. 

Riverrun truly is a sheltered home. I had good company, good pastimes, a good environment to live in. The Twins is a wreck. It was not only the girls that frustrated me, mind you - Lord Weasel had put every boy in his family unmarried and above the age of twelve to woo me. Edwyn Frey (the heir’s heir’s heir), ‘Black’ Walder Frey, Walton Frey, and seven more besides. Even his illegitimate sons were following me around with hungry eyes. Had Shirei been with me, she would have cursed each of them and proceeded to prank them. Instead, my watchdog was Uncle Brynden (or Ser Blackfish, as  _everyone_ calls him) who never let me out of my site and threw vile glares at the overambitious boys who tried inviting me into their bed.

I wish I had never said yes to Ser Hosteen. A foolish part of me probably thought that Riverrun and the Twins would be similar and I would not actually mind it, but mind I did. It was the epitome of male supremacy and showcased just how bad medieval family dynamics can be. Spending a week here was, in my opinion at least, punishment enough for my past crimes or non-crimes. When I mentioned it to my uncle, he told me gently that Lord Hoster is not planning to send me out as a punishment as much as he is sending me out to learn more about the world I live in and to better his ties with whichever House he sends me to foster with.

A weird observation - every other person at the Twins has a name similar to Walder. Either that itself, or Walda (those two are the most popular by far) or something mutilated like Waltyr or Walden. You know what I mean. Uncle Brynden told me it is most likely a ploy to gather favour from Lord Weasel; so that he will give the parents of said Walda/Walder/Waltyr a better job or monetary help. He told me that the women of House Frey who marry out also name their children such, hence there is already a Walder Vance and a Walder Goodbrook somewhere in the Riverlands. Idiocy.

I will always hate how Lord Hoster sent Marq away, but a part of me now understands better why he did it. I think. Symond Frey is a ‘spymaster’ here, and according to Lord Weasel, he found out an “interesting” bit of news - that the third Whent son was courting the second Tully daughter. I felt so embarrassed and disgusted by the words the man used; asking me if I had “batseed” in me, or if the Whent boy had made me “moan like a bat”. Uncle Brynden saved me with a rebuke, insult and threat thrown Lord Weasel’s direction, who only laughed with his sons in response. I maintained that Marq and I are close as cousins should be. To that once more Lord Weasel cackled and joked about a bastard son of his who had “flushed his seed into his trueborn niece’s belly”.

Gods, how pleased I am to get out of there. The feast in itself was great, mind you, and the other nobility who attended were courteous and deferred to me and Uncle Brynden. Lady Goodbrook, Lord Vance of the Wayfarer’s Rest Vances, Lord Mooton, Lord Lefford and Lady Smallwood all seemed quite nice. But I could barely conceal my excitement at leaving. Tyta Frey hugged me despite my never having really shown any affection for her, and Lord Weasel told me to “remember the name  _Frey_ every once in a while, heh.” Walton Frey gave me a crooked smile that I think was supposed to be charming. Only Lady Bethany was the decent one - and five-year old Perwyn, who gave me the sweetest goodbye he could manage.

We are on the road again, in any case. Jeffory, who had accompanied us, left our group only recently - meaning we have just crossed Seagard. Riverrun gets closer and closer; Cat and Edmure and Shirei get closer and closer but thinking of them leaves an unsavory taste in my mouth. I scarcely fit in at the Crossing. I’d wager that wherever Lord Hoster plans to send me, I’ll be as unhappy. I asked Uncle Brynden where he thinks his brother is like to foster me; he wagered the logical thing would be at Casterly Rock so that I can be better trained to be a good future Lady of the Rock and wife to Jaime Lannister. However, Lord Tywin is the Hand of the King and as such spends all his time away at the capital - meaning that I would have to serve one of his brothers. “I don’t know if our dear Lord Tully would want that,” Uncle Brynden said. “For him, it’s likely Tywin or no Lannister at all.”

I don’t want to be a ward of Lord Tywin. No, I really don’t. I don’t want to be fostered at Casterly Rock. I don’t want to marry Jaime Lannister. I don’t know if I could ever really stomach it. I remember Cat saying that a woman doesn’t need a husband to be happy, but whenever I close my eyes and think about this place Lord Hoster wants me to live in, all I can imagine is a desolate rock and an uninterested husband. I don’t want it to happen. I know realities now; I know the kind of world I am in. But that doesn’t mean I will be okay living like that. I don’t want that future. I never will.


	8. Seven

******February 5, 2015  
Week 20, 281 AC**

It took us the usual three weeks to get back to Riverrun: three long, excruciating weeks. The days I had taken to riding next to Uncle Brynden talking about his adventures and travels; even when he repeated his stories I laughed hard. He narrated tales of when Marq had been only a solemn young squire bent on proving himself worthy; how he would spend hours cleaning swords and armor. My cousin had never got along with his brothers even though his sister is very fond of him. As such Uncle Brynden told me how Marq would exact revenge for their pranks on him - they would never know what hit them. He recalled a tourney at Storm’s End held by Lord Baratheon, where Marq had been too shy to ask for a dance with a stormlands girl who had caught his eye. I remember him telling me of that particular tourney when the invitation to Harrenhal had arrived, but he had never mentioned a girl. “Oh, he was smitten, I say,” Uncle Brynden chuckled when I told him this. “Never was interested in many people, that boy, but at Storm’s End he sat besides Steffon’s younger boy and watched green with envy as Robert Baratheon made the Mertyns girl blush.”

That is another sad story - a family torn asunder by the whims of the king. Lord Baratheon, King Aerys’ first cousin, had been sent with his wife to the Free Cities to find a ‘suitable Valyrian bride’ for Prince Rhaegar before his engagement to Elia Martell. In that they had been unsuccessful, and on the voyage home their two eldest sons had watched as their ship had succumbed to a storm and drowned the lord and the lady. Their youngest child had barely been a year old. I can’t help but wonder; if modern ships had carried the couple, would they have survived? Or would they still have died and left their children orphans in a lonely home? 

Besides that I can’t help but widen my eyes and then feel ashamed at my giggling after listening to Uncle Brynden talk about Lord Luthor Tyrell’s death in Highgarden. The man had literally been carried off to his death by a horse that rode off a cliff. “Some even say that the whole affair had been planned by his wife, the Lady Olenna,” said my uncle when I challenged the story. “A witch if there ever was one, and she had that fool to content with as a husband. In another life she might have been my good-family.” He had once been betrothed to Bethany Redwyne, Olenna Tyrell’s younger sister. “Can you imagine that?” Uncle Brynden laughed. “Me, married?”

So between talk of this and that, we reached Riverrun. Edmure, as always the happy, eager boy, welcomed us with hugs and a beaming Catelyn at his side. He pestered me to tell him stories of the evil bandits Uncle Brynden had obviously saved me from - I relented, but told him of an old weasel and his cruel family instead. Cat was aghast at how badly the feast had gone - “I know Lord Walder isn’t the best host, but he couldn’t have been  _that_ bad,” she said, exasperated. Shirei made it known that she didn’t want to hear a word of anything that had occurred at the Twins. “I don’t trust myself to not march to their precious bridge and show them the wrath I showed the Blackwoods,” she announced.

I was given a letter written in Marq’s hand, which spoke about his suspicions about the tourney (‘ _I checked. There is no hidden gold mine beneath our sweet home. Father ignored me when I questioned where he had found all the money to fund the tournament, and Anisa said that when our uncle visited, all the two of them ever did was spend time cooped up in the solar_ ’). It also reminded me of the list of books he had left me. I drafted a reply but before I could go to the rookery to send a raven to Harrenhal, Lord Hoster summoned me.

He sat me down, so much calmer than the first time he had yelled at me, and explained to me marriage alliances. “When war comes to Westeros, the Riverlands is the first to bleed,” he said. “And war can come any day, Lysa. Whether we want to it to or not is never a question. I mean to secure our boundaries with everything I have. I mean to protect my lands, my family, and the best I can do that is to be allied with those who have the power and the proximity to inflict the most amount of pain.”

Cat’s responsibility is to get the North into the fold; I understand what he means. With a Tully as their future lord’s consort, no one in that region would attack the Riverlands. Lord Hoster then told me that he has a vague idea to organise a match between Edmure and a girl from a prominent Vale or Reach house (“Elys Waynwood's youngest is not much older, and Mathis Rowan has a girl who has seen three name days.”) when he comes of age. It took great efforts to hide my disdain - I mean, Edmure is six years old! - but I had to admit that it made sense. 

“Family, Duty, Honor,” are the Tully words. He does it to protect family, or so he says. So he wants me to think. So he wants me to tell myself so that I will start believing in his plots. Whatever else the man is, now I know that he is first and foremost concerned about his lands, his House and his legacy. I also know what my role in all of this is.

Uncle Brynden had been right. I am to foster in Casterly Rock for three more years, until such a time Jaime and I can get married. The engagement is in its final stages, hastened by my fostering out; the dowry is currently being discussed. While Lord Tywin serves as the Hand of the King, I will be the charge of his brother, Ser Kevan Lannister. “I do not want this,” I told Lord Hoster when we were nearing the end of our discussion. I know why he is doing it; why it is necessary from his perspective. That doesn’t mean I am all that willing to be traded like some cow. It just doesn’t sit well with me. This entire arrangement makes me uneasy. My ‘father’ only sighed when I said that, and moved to put a hand on my shoulder. For a moment there, he really looked like he sympathised with me. “I know,” he said. “I know. But you know why you ought to do it anyway, don’t you?”

Jaime Lannister is but a few days away from Riverrun. No, he is  _Ser_ Jaime Lannister now - knighted at the age of fifteen by a glorified Dornish bodyguard called Ser Arthur Dayne. Not much is known of their defeat of the Robin Hood wannabe bandits calling themselves the Kingswood Brotherhood; it has happened only recently and besides, news travels way slower in Westeros than it should. What is known is this:  _Ser_ Jaime, originally a squire to Lord Crakehall, was knighted on the battlefield, saved many lives, and is now on the road here to escort me to his home.

Cat has stitched me a beautiful dress to wear when we welcome him. Rich blue silk with red accents. It is important that I make a good first impression, she insisted. “I’m sure he’s a good man,” she tried to reassure me. “Everything you could want in a husband.” Somewhere inside I know she didn’t actually believe the words coming out of her mouth, but I didn’t accuse her of anything. She was only trying to making me feel better. Only trying to help.

When Shirei and Cat are busy and I am not, I distract myself by reading. Once I had finished all the volumes of  _Black on Red: A History of the Blackfyre Rebellions_  by Maester Lukys, I found more war treatises to ponder upon. They feel like an addiction sometimes. Archmaester Gyldayn’s texts fascinate me when it comes to the intelligent politics of the Targaryen court, but also disgust me when I read about the lengths people are willing to go to, all for getting and keeping a crown. From Marq’s list of books,  _The Rogue Prince, or, A King’s Brother_  and its companion,  _The Princess and the Queen, or, The Blacks and The Greens_  entertain me through the day and well into the night.

I don’t even sleep well nowadays. I feel apprehensive and reflective and the future of my new life plagues me night and day. And the gods know I am scared. I don’t want to be Monster Lannister’s daughter by marriage. I don’t want to be Lady of Casterly Rock. But then I think of Uncle Brynden; of Marq and Cat and Shirei and all those people I have come to appreciate and rely on. I think of Edmure. I know, now, the game Lord Hoster played with me. I know he wants me to consider my future marriage as a way to protect them all. I know I’ve been trapped in his delicately constructed net of maneuvering. I am just a pawn on his chess board but he has convinced me that it lies in my best interests to move as he wishes me to. “It’s all for the Riverlands,” was what he had said. “It’s all for your friends and the family you have chosen,” is what I hear emanating from his mouth every night when I close my eyes. I know this is something I have little to no choice in. This is the reality I must face. This is what I must do.


	9. Eight

**March 17, 2015  
Week 26, 281 AC**

In my mind, I had an image of Jaime Lannister. What I imagined him to look like; what I imagined him to talk like; how I imagined he would treat me. After he rode inside the gates of Riverrun with his father’s retainers, I realised he is… different, somewhat, than that. He is arrogant, yes. He is proud, yes. But he seems rather un-monster-like. From what I have seen in the past four weeks in his company, he doesn’t seem like someone to murder innocents or do anything against his knightly oaths really - it’s clear that he tries his best to uphold them. I’m not saying he’s completely unlike his father, of course, since he might just be hiding his true colours, but he is not at all like I expected.

He was chivalrous when we welcomed him, I give him that. A good first impression. That he is easy on the eyes doesn’t hurt. Jaime Lannister is tall, golden-haired and has this sharp, winning smile. Prince Charming-level handsome, even. He looks every bit a knight from the illustrated books about Westeros’ Age of Heroes. I think on seeing him in flesh, Lord Hoster truly felt his life’s mission on the road to accomplishment - Uncle Brynden told me he was worried his brother might just trip himself from the meeting with his future good-brother. Jaime’s eyes lingered on Cat for a second, and truly I don’t blame him; she’s the more beautiful of the two of us. I’m the one with less sharp features, the more skinny one, which is not really a good thing. Still, he kissed the back of my hand and I gave him a polite smile. I was introduced to his companion, Ser Addam Marbrand, heir to Ashemark, and Edmure took to the two of them as quickly as he had taken to Brandon Stark and his companions eight months ago. My little brother wanted to be the one to lead them in and show them Riverrun, at which point Lord Hoster determined that he was misbehaving and Septa Myana was promptly asked to escort him away. I think the old man wanted to prevent some sort imagined shame Edmure would obviously bring to the Tully name in front of a Lannister. To everyone’s surprise, my betrothed laughed it off and said that he would not mind to be shown in by the heir to the riverlands, “it would be an honour indeed,” at which point I became suspicious of some sort of trick. Jaime seemed rather… amused by the exchange, and smirked as though he were sharing a joke with himself. If that were possible.

I actually asked him, worried that he might actually be mean to Edmure at the end - I had seen enough of this ‘only pretending to be kind while I plan your humiliation’ attitude in my old school. “Does something amuse you, ser?” I wondered, quiet enough that Lord Hoster or Catelyn might not overhear and hiss at me for impudence. Jaime seemed startled at my question, but slowly reverted back to his half-smirking, half-curious expression. “Why, nothing, my lady. Nothing at all,” he answered. I narrowed my eyes but continued walking at his side. _Absurd_ , is what I remember thinking.

The feast, though, was not as absurd. The kitchens had prepared fantastic food for our guests, of which predictably Jaime was made to sit between Cat and I. Edmure in his excitement demanded stories from him about defeating the ‘bad men’, and Ser Jaime obliged. Even Uncle Brynden (who he insisted on calling Ser Blackfish) listened to everything that had occurred opposing the Kingswood Brotherhood from the horse’s mouth. He spoke of his idol, the “truest knight in all the seven realms”, Ser Arthur Dayne, who had knighted him on the battlefield. Then there was a customary fanboy lecture about this Dornish Kingsguard, by which time I caught Ser Addam Marbrand’s gaze. He rolled his eyes at Jaime when he saw me looking and made faces. It took quite some effort to hide my laughter at that.

Other than the hero worship, Jaime did present an impressive tale of the skirmishes. He had himself crossed swords with a biggie of the Brotherhood once, if he was to be believed (later I found out the so-called Smiling Knight had in fact fought Jaime to eventually killed by the Westerosi Superman Arthur Dayne). When one of the assaults led by Ser Barristan the Bold of the Kingsguard was compared to a particular hit-and-run by the Dornishmen in First War for Dorne, I surprised myself, Jaime as well as half the table by contributing my by now significant historical knowledge to the discussion. Lord Hoster gave me a queer look. Oh, shock of shocks! I actually did things in the library other than “fool around” with my older cousin!

He isn’t _as_ bad a guy as I wanted to think. His fanboying does define him, what with pestering Uncle Brynden for war stories and listening on with awe, talking about just how great Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan the Bold are in person. My uncle found it amusing, to say the least. Edmure’s eagerness was satiated well enough. Eventually by the end of supper we had actually exchanged more than few words and I saw Cat smiling silently from the corner of my eye. Later that night she told me that while it wasn’t much, it was a start.

I briefly watched him train with Ser Addam a few days later when I noticed that his self-confessed prowess with the sword was not entirely false. He is _good_. Now, I’m not one to judge someone’s skills with weapons; I’m not at all one for striking at people or shooting arrows towards them or whatever, but for Jaime the sword didn’t just seem like something to attack others with - it was as though that blunt-edged thing with an ordinary scabbard, a tourney sword they call it, was merely an extension of his hand. He moved as though it was a part of his body. It seemed… I don’t know, unreal. And just as Jaime saw Ser Arthur as his god, Edmure was starting to see him.

They stayed at Riverrun for two weeks before the time came to leave. In those weeks I actually had conversations with my fiance, where he asked me about myself and what I liked. Typical first date questions. When I told him my love of books, especially historical ones, he beamed and told me that I would get along with his younger brother, Tyrion, just fine. I think the politically correct term for Tyrion Lannister is “little person”, but most Westerosi would rather just call him “dwarf” or “Imp” and be done with it. Jaime isn’t one to say such mind you - and I’m quite impressed at the amount of affection he claims to show his eight year old brother. No one else seems to think highly of the poor kid among the party that is to escort us to Casterly Rock, other than Ser Addam who hinted that Lord Monster Lannister does not give his younger son the love he deserves, either. Unsurprising. But from what the two of them - Ser Addam and Jaime - have told me, he seems like an intelligent and keen young boy who I am curious to meet. Jaime let it be known to me, in a low, warning tone, that under no circumstances was I to treat Tyrion with anything other than kindness. I assured him I was not such a cruel person, which relieved him greatly. Then he was back to smirking arrogantly and telling me about the battle prowess of his uncle Tygett. He cares for his family, I know that. It is something I can appreciate.

He also speaks often of his twin sister, Cersei, who is rumoured to be (according to Shirei) a beauty rivaling the Targaryens. “She is far more beautiful than that,” Jaime snorted when I mentioned that. “Targaryens? They are no match for my sweet sister.” That led to a discussion about our lovely monarchs; and Jaime looked around warily for a moment or two before admitting that the King wasn’t quite what he had expected. “Then again,” he smirked, “ _You’re_ not quite what I expected either.” Yes, Jaime, I'm not exactly your... er, _regular_ Westerosi noblewoman. “Likewise,” I replied.

Jaime, as I’ve learnt, is probably dyslexic in some measure. He told me that as a small boy he had found it most difficult to read, and his father, a hard man if there ever was one, had made him peruse texts despite incessant crying and tantrums. “The letters danced around the page more often than not,” he confided. Suffice to say, books aren’t his cup of tea at all. A dagger is preferable to him at any time of the day to some rusty old tome. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it,” he said. Can’t say I don’t know his type. I’ve learnt that few men in the Seven Kingdoms are anything like Marq, and Ser Jaime Lannister is only one among the majority.

Another celebration was held at Riverrun before we left, for my nameday. The thought hadn’t struck me at all. Yet I was presented with a variety of presents, both for that as well as for farewell - it is generally understood that I won’t be coming back until Cat’s wedding to Brandon in the second month next year. Catelyn gave me three more of her handmade dresses, all in Tully colours, and I admit they’re beautiful. She’s masterful at this; as good at it as I am bad. Edmure shyly gave me a small wooden model of Riverrun that he had helped carve and paint. Our uncle’s idea no doubt. Lord Hoster gave me jewellery, as did Jaime (who I totally hadn’t expected anything from, but when I voiced that I was not-so-subtly glared at by Lord Hoster). Shirei shoved a hastily wrapped box in my hand which contained a single glistening dagger: “Don’t give me that look, I _know_ your hate for sharp objects. Only I’d feel better knowing that you at least tried defending yourself from some Westerlands bandits while your Ser Jaime ran away cowering in fear.” Cat looked horrified in some measure on overhearing that, but I only laughed. Only Shirei could say something like that on her friend’s birthday.

Uncle Brynden handed me his own gift only later, the day of my leaving, in private away from prying ears. “I knew not what to give you at first,” he confessed, “Not after how you’ve grown in the past year. The time for dolls and such is gone, now.” It is a dainty silver chain with a miniscule pendant representing a bat circling a trout - no end to the emphasis on sigils and animals and the like. It apparently once belonged to my ‘mother’, Minisa Whent by birth, and had somehow fallen into the possession of Uncle Brynden. I had the decency to not ask how; though I’m certain that if I had the question would have been ignored. It is a beautiful item, frankly, and I’m glad to own it. I thanked him for the same.

Regardless, we are now nearly two weeks into the journey to Casterly Rock. To my genuine surprise the days and evenings are not quite as boring as I would have thought; Jaime can be pleasant enough company when he isn’t being an arrogant little prick - in which case I pointedly ignore him and prompt a humoured Ser Addam to do so as well. Soon as he tires of solitude, he plays down his act and at least tries to be halfway decent. It’s not the best of relationships I can have with a future husband, but it will have to do for now.


	10. Nine

**April 15, 2015**  
**Week 30, 281 AC**

The Rock is massive. And I mean,  _massive_. It can make anyone standing before it feel like an ant. Not only that, it also has a serene sort of beauty about it. Imposing, intimidating, sinister, but charming in its own way - that is how I would describe this future home of mine. I was so awed the first time I entered that instead of paying heed to the men and women gathered to greet us, I asked Jaime and Addam (who has lived here more than half his life) a multitude of questions. 

Ser Kevan, castellan of Casterly Rock and the head while his elder brother is away, didn’t seem particularly insulted by the lack of attention I gave them, but Lady Genna, who is Jaime’s aunt and the Lady of the Rock in all but name felt very much disgruntled. That is something I’ve come to learn over the last three weeks: unlike in Riverrun, here people judge me by every single action of mine. Every misstep, every hesitation, is accounted for. Unfortunately my very first action in Lady Genna’s presence, that is - apparently - ignoring her, built into constant scrutiny of me and unwarranted disdain.

I spend most of my time with her; lucky me. The woman is clearly Monster Lannister’s younger sister, and a slavedriver if anything. That she is a Frey by marriage does not sweeten the deal. She’s a bully, plain and simple. She bullies her husband most of all, her eldest son Cleos often enough, her brothers occasionally and the staff at the Rock every minute of every day. As I’m her cupbearer now, I count as a part of the staff - nice little demotion it is from a Lady of Riverrun - and thus by the end of every day I have hardly any energy left in me. I carry her messages across the castle, help her with the ledgers when she’s in a mood to be trustworthy, get criticised for my skills with the needle (rather, lack thereof) when we sit with the other ladies. The woman holds a huge grudge against me, and is determined to make it known.

Ladies Dorna and Darlessa, though, are both kind souls. Not being Lannister by birth, it is not unexpected. They are together most of the time, often the sweetness and smiles to Lady Genna’s sharpness and once even apologised to me about their sister-in-law, claiming that she was only over-protective of her nephews and thought no woman less than Jaime’s equal should become his wife. She had raised him and his siblings after their mother’s death, they said; she is like a parent to the three of them. Still, it did not make me any less angry about her disdainful gazes - though I did start making efforts to conceal it better. 

The other Lannisters treat me mostly with indifference, to be honest. Few seem eager to get to know me. Ser Kevan and Lady Dorna’s marriage was, according to a handmaiden, for love, but it had borne no children yet while the ever-missing Ser Tygett and Lady Darlessa’s marriage was as political as political could get. They have no children unsurprisingly - the two find it difficult to even talk to each other at a length from what I can tell, let alone sleep together. Ser Stafford, who is the late Lady Joanna’s brother and Lord Monster’s cousin (frown-inducing on many levels, but nothing quite as bad as the Targaryens), has three children, all still quite young. His wife, Lady Myranda, is present with Ladies Darlessa and Dorna often but hardly speaks. Lady Shiera, another of the distant cousins’ wives, is more closeted and doesn’t interact much with others. Her children are small as well. Save for Jaime, Addam (who now I know is Lady Darlessa’s nephew) and little Tyrion, not many heed me much. Never mind that in a few years, it will be me they’ll have to address as Lady Lannister… 

Which, in spite of the fact that my apprehensions about Jaime have more or less died down, I’m not much looking forward to becoming.

Tyrion and I do get along though. All for the better. He’s a nice boy, shares with me a love for books and has an intellect high as Casterly Rock. That’s not to say he’s quiet or anything - he can be a hellion if he wants to. I think he loves that there’s one more reader in his house now, and sits beside me at mealtimes when Lady Genna is in a good enough mood - the only thing she even remotely, grudgingly seems to approve about me is that I treat Tyrion as I would treat any other eight-year old lordling instead of a monster. Sorry to disappoint you, woman, but  _that_ specific title is reserved exclusively for your elder brother, not his genius of a son.

He  _is_ a genius. It’s a pity few see it. Despite Lord Tywin’s brothers and sister and their children being gentle enough to him, the other Lannisters are not as good. I don’t understand what their problem is. Although considering how Tyrion all but confirmed that his father hates him, I’d wager that these fools look to garner the favour of their lord by harassing his despised offspring. That’s another thing I’m slowly coming to learn: that everything in history books is real. The lords and ladies relentlessly play at gaining riches for their family by plotting and maneuvering their way into the good graces of their liege. Politics, it seems, is a common factor through every age of history.

I did ask Jaime what he thought about it, on the rare occasion that we were both free and walking in the Stone Garden of the Rock. He shook his head and told me of his father’s failed attempts at schooling him in the ways of court. Not his cup of tea, obviously. “What could a swordsman hope to gain from layers and layers of intrigue?” he asked, in a rare moment of seriousness. 

Later I told him about Shirei’s gift of the dagger, and he offered to teach me how to use it. “What could I possibly need to know to use it?” I wondered, which for some reason led to Jaime collapsing in laughter. I frowned at him, but the ponce would not stop. “Sorry,” he apologised, not actually meaning it, still with the smirk on the face. “Cersei knew more about arms at seven. You’re so remarkably clueless that it makes me hard to control my self.  _What could you possibly need to know to use a dagger_ , indeed,” he guffawed.

Gods, he can be infuriating sometimes. Cersei Lannister though - I am rather curious to meet my future sister-in-law. She’s been praised and spoken highly of by Jaime many a times, but not so much by Addam. He claims that she once campaigned to remove him from Casterly Rock because Jaime had been spending more time with him instead of her. They had been very young, to be fair, but Addam warned me that she’s Lady Genna-level protective of her twin brother. “He came into the world holding her, and she never lets anyone forget that,” he said. Jaime had joked and laughed off my wariness about his aunt; I wondered how he would react if Cersei and I didn’t get along. I voiced that to him, and I could see him becoming uncomfortable. Something troubled him, and he changed the topic, avoiding the question. No idea what that was about.

Tyrion, though - once while playing with him, I mentioned his sister and that caused him to go all silent. I thought he was going to cry when Lady Dorna arrived and whisked him off. His Uncle Gerion, had arrived from Lannisport for the night. Now he is someone I would never have imagined to be born the Monster’s brother. Ser Gerion insisted I call him by name - “I’d have told you to call me Geri, my dear, but it would be terribly confusing a few years later if you had to call myself and your son by the same short name, no? Oh, Tyrion, how mad do you think your lord father would be when Jaime named his heir after me?” he chortled, and downed an entire glass of red wine from the Arbor without waiting for a response from his nephew. Ser Gerion is an interesting man to say the least. Not afraid to make his thoughts known. The bachelor of Tytos Lannister’s pride. Lord Monster had suggested a number of matches for his youngest brother, but all of them had been refused. It reminds me far too much of Uncle Brynden and Lord Hoster back in Riverrun.

I miss them. Well, not Lord Hoster obviously, but Uncle Brynden and Edmure and Cat and Shirei. Marq, too. I wrote them each a raven, but I found that I couldn’t quite express what I wanted to say well enough. Good thing is, Jaime says we will be attending the Tourney at Harrenhal and I get to meet my cousins and my aunt there. The other Tullys will not be attending, busy as they will be planning Cat’s wedding - but at least Marq will be there. What is not so reassuring is the fact that half the kingdom is said to be attending. Even more scrutiny than the Rock.

One thing that feels great here in the Westerlands? Wandering the streets of Lannisport. It is the closest thing to a city here in Westeros, and it does make me nostalgic so. I realise how much I miss home. My real home. I think constantly about what is happening there, and the Lannister-named city doesn’t make the memories any less prominent. It is a port, essentially, and the point of convergence of three major “roads” (though honestly these are barely vague paths that show the way). The alleys are bustling with people: sailors, merchants, shopkeepers, hawkers, smiths, as well as people engaged in more…  _illicit_ activities. Tyrion is not allowed to leave the confines of the Rock, so I’ve only been to Lannisport accompanied by Jaime and Addam on the days where Lady Genna cuts some slack. It provides some measure of enjoyment between hours of following her orders. The people here love Jaime - not kidding, they would all marry him if they could, girl and boy, man and woman. Their own young golden knight. To my amusement, the Lannister girls of Lannisport threw me dark looks when I was introduced as Jaime’s betrothed. They even mooned over him when they thought no one was looking. Though to be fair, he  _is_ someone to be mooned over until the arrogance becomes prominent.

Life here isn’t terrible but it’s not as blissful as Riverrun. Then again, the grass is always greener on the other side. Had the old man kept me there instead of sent me away, he might have bossed over me worse than Lady Genna. Good riddance in that respect. Good riddance.


	11. Ten

**May 17, 2015**   
**Week 34, 281 AC**

I don’t think there is a single word well-suited enough to describe my life at Casterly Rock. It is nothing like I expected, to be sure, and nothing I’ve experienced before. Nearly two months after my arrival here I can now safely say that I have settled in. I can tell one Lannister from another, have a fair idea of what each of them are like, and know just how to treat each of them. Lady Genna has made sure all of this is drilled into my mind; I’ve been told multiple amount of times in the same snappish, chastising way that being the Lady of the Rock is not something to take lightly, not with the sheer amount of golden-haired distant relatives I will have to constantly deal with. My future aunt by marriage has slowly begun lecturing me about what it really means to be the wife of a High Lord, though I am yet to figure out whether she does it genuinely or out of necessity.

Regarding Lord Monster - he seems to be much of a...  _family_ man. The number of his relatives that live at the Rock, while nowhere near the number of Freys, certainly is considerable. I pondered upon this one night, and not having truly met and interacted with the man, I couldn’t really tell his motivations. Someone watching from an outsider’s perspective might say that he does it because he is actually concerned about his family’s wellbeing, but having spent some time talking to and observing the extended Lannister family, I’m not sure if he really cares for them that much. Something Ser Tygett - on one of the rare suppers he had with us - pointed out, rather spitefully it must be noted, made me think that maybe Lord Monster does so because he likes people being indebted to him. Either way, this enormous family  _will_ be a part of my responsibilities in the future, and as such catering to their needs is important. Lady Genna made sure I knew that by her narrowed eyes and the suspicious glances. 

Kevan Lannister is far kinder. He is a quiet man, not quarter as bossy, and more a peacemaker, follow-the-leader type than his elder brother or sister. I don’t speak much with him, to be honest, but I respect him much more than most other Lannisters. He is the one who supervises the finances of the mines under the Rock and around Lannisport, as well as lends a hand in the trade units. Often Jaime is required to accompany and assist him, something that is not appreciated by him at all. He is easily bored by petitions as well. Truthfully I don’t think he’d make a very good ruler, but being the golden son no one speaks against him. I only mentioned it to him once, weeks ago, and his reaction made it clear that he’s not interested in ruling one bit. He dreams of winning glory in battle and being a famed knight like his Kingsguard idols. It’s not that he’d be absolutely terrible at being Lord of Casterly Rock, really - it’s only that the potential seems to bore him to death. I feel pity for him sometimes, to be honest. It’s just his bad luck that he was born a first son.

Concerning birth order and such family things, a Prester cousin of the Lannisters gossiped at the sewing circle the other day that the reason why Lady Genna is so indifferent towards me is because I’m the “less beautiful, less intelligent Tully sister. Why should the Starks get the better one and the Lannisters only the second-best?” I couldn’t help but snort at the not-so-subtle way in which it had been said. Less beautiful? Fine, there’s some truth to that. Less intelligent? Uh…  _no_ , woman. Childish as it is, I am inclined to believe that Lady Genna’s dislike has more to do with the fact that a few years down the line I will be taking over most of her job and her days at bossing over people will be at an end.  _Ha_. That sounds like a delightfully sunny prospect.

Something else that makes me quite pleased, though, is that Lady Dorna is pregnant. She is a nice, gentle woman and deserves all the happiness in the world, as does Ser Kevan. From what I can tell they married late in their lives, and there is a certain age gap between them. She had been held a hostage in the Rock when she met him, and I have to admit, it is somewhat romantic. Now that she is expecting a child, her entire world has lit up - she is always beaming, always smiling. So happy. I always thought that the nine months of carrying a baby in the womb gave one short tempers and whatnot. Clearly such is not the case for Lady Dorna - she has already decided on names, even. Lancel for a boy and Janei for a girl. I wonder if I will be this joyous bearing a child, when that possibility comes to pass. Needless to stay, it makes me quite...  _uncomfortable_.

Jaime and I are… Well, something happened a week or so ago. I accepted his offer to help me with using the dagger, and we had taken to meeting in the Stone Garden early in the day before I was expected to report to Lady Genna. It was a good enough arrangement, really, and I’d begun truly enjoying it after a while. Jaime is, however cocky and arrogant, fun to be with. A  _lot_ of fun to be with, sometimes. One morning I don’t know what came over me. I couldn’t help myself. He had been right in front of me, joking about something or the other while we took a break. I found the moment really hard to resist and, uh, stole a kiss. Yes, I  _actually_ did it. Jaime was shocked, but not nearly as much as I was - I have never been the one to take the first step.  _Never_. Every time I had been kissed before, it had been the guy who had initiated it. This once it was me, and for a few moments it was almost like Jaime even responded, started returning the kiss, and I felt so  _good_ \- but just like that it was all gone. He pulled back, flustered, muttered some excuse and ran away from the Stone Garden. 

Disappointment clouded all over me. How stupid am I? I don’t even know how Jaime feels about me. I regret that kiss so much. He hasn’t spoken to me properly after that. In fact, I’ll even go so far to say that he is avoiding me. Addam maintains that he doesn’t think so, but he is lying. I know that. Jaime stood me up in the Stone Garden the next day and every day after that. I’m so scared that he views me wrongly. I so hope he doesn’t. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, what’s going on in his mind at all. I can’t help feel apprehensive. What if I’ve mucked it all up because of one impulsive action? We’d been doing so well until then. I’d begun thinking that perhaps of all the potential futures I could have in this medieval muddle of a world, one as Lady of Casterly Rock would not have been so bad. I don’t know what to do now. I’m even somewhat afraid of approaching Jaime in fear of embarrassment. 

At least he hasn’t told anyone. I am thankful about that. Even Addam, without doubt his closest friend, doesn’t seem to know what exactly happened. That something happened, yes, but none of the details. Tyrion I think is catching on that Jaime and I aren’t talking; that boy is far too smart for his own good. It is an unkind thing to say, but whatever he lacks in looks, he makes up for in intelligence. That does not mean that he isn’t fascinated by swords and the like. He watches the men-at-arms train with all the concentration his eight-year old self possesses. Most squires jeer at him and mock him, say that he will never be able to fight like they can, and I think he knows that somewhere inside, but he still watches when he can. He reminds me of Edmure but at the same time the two of them are very different kids. He’s even like Marq in some aspects. Like Jaime in some others. Tyrion Lannister is hands down one of the best things about Casterly Rock.

Lately he has taken to exploring the secret passages, exits and hideouts that are present throughout this monstrosity of a castle. It’s really cool, actually - you can never know where a ‘hole in the wall’ might be and which little tunnel leads where. I’ve accompanied Tyrion and Addam (who is pretty much an unofficial guardian of his) twice after the incident in the Stone Garden and I’ve even learnt plenty in that time. Addam told us how there are such secret passageways in Ashemark, his home keep, as well as Kayce, where his mother is from. Tyrion took this to mean that majority of the castles must be having these - if not all. I contradicted that, saying that I’d never known of any in Riverrun, but Tyrion brushed that off saying that I just hadn’t looked hard enough. It’s an exciting idea, that there might be such hidden routes inside my home, something I’m definitely going to write to Edmure about.

It’s getting warmer outside for sure. This has been a very mild winter, ”only” two and a half years, and it’s popularly believed that spring is coming. Needless to say, I’m quite looking forward to it. While the Tourney of Harrenhal I am still not that keen about, there’s the wedding after that, for which I get to go to Riverrun. Casterly Rock may be a brilliant place, exciting and everything, but it is the peacefulness of the Riverlands that I crave at the moment. I had hoped to ask Jaime if he would come with me for the wedding but I’m a bit too apprehensive to approach him right now. I hope I haven’t spoiled everything on that front just yet...


	12. Eleven

**June 9, 2015**  
**Week 38, 281 AC**

I think one thing I’ve sorely underestimated in the time that I’ve been here is magic. I don’t blame myself, really - to be fair, there’s very little trace of it left; merely the residue of years long past. The dragons all died during or after the Dance of Dragons and the warlocks of the Free Cities live in solitude in Qarth. The library at Riverrun doesn’t have much of a collection when it comes to the magic of Old Valyria, so whatever I read, I read about dragons and when that got repetitive and boring, I went back to the histories of the Seven Kingdoms and Essos. I didn’t think it would be of much consequence.

I was wrong.

It was a surprisingly sunny sort of day when Lady Genna was busy with her circle of ladies (gossiping most likely) and I was given leave to do as I pleased. I sought out Tyrion and found him gearing up for a ride in the woods that are to the north of Casterly Rock. Technically it was Addam riding and Tyrion seated in front of him, but either way, he asked me to come along. I obliged. Now while these woods are far from the safest place around, they aren’t filled with bandits either - so when we spotted something burning at a distance, Addam instructed three of the guards that had accompanied us from the Rock to wait while he and another guard checked what was wrong. I was aware smallfolk were wont to take up residence among the trees sometimes, so I knew he was worried about them being in trouble. We were all worried, I think. A fire in the woods could be dangerous. The guards with us grew tenser and tenser by the minute. Tyrion grew more and more restless. Eventually, he declared that he couldn’t take it any longer and wanted to go away from the place we’d halted. While I was in the process of convincing him to stay put for a little while, we heard a scream - from the direction of the fires. From the direction Addam had cantered to.

I was immediately frightened and fearing for his life. I commanded the guards to follow the cries but they refused to listen to me. Not that I blame them too much, but in that chaos, what was more important - saving lives, including possibly that of Addam, or staying with us doing nothing? It was only after the screams intensified, I threatened two non-Sers with complaints to Lady Genna of inefficiency and Tyrion threw rocks on them that the guards left us.  
  
The two of us were alone thereafter with only Sneering Ser Preston for company. My hand flew to the dagger I’d got from Shirei, and I knew she’d been right to give it to me. I knew Jaime had been right to teach me how to use it. Tyrion was awfully quiet, but his face was contorted and he moved to hug me. He was afraid, even more so than I was. I remember hearing a baby’s squalling from somewhere in the woods. Then  _she_ came.  
  
I don’t think I’ve seen a person look so… so simply  _horrendous_. The woman was short and fat, but she had pools of sickly yellow instead of eyes and her hair was a literal bird’s nest. I can’t forget the sight of her, not even when I sleep. She is the single scariest memory I have.  
  
At this point, Tyrion had climbed back up my horse and was seated in front of me as before he had been in front of Addam. His grip on the horse loosened when the woman approached. I raised my dagger and asked her who she was and what she wanted, but that only seemed to make her snap. She flew into a rage and screamed, loud enough to drown the cries from wherever Addam was. When I turned to look at the Sneering Ser, his eyes seemed to have glazed over and whitened. Whitened!  _Coward_ , is what I remember thinking. I called out for the man, but to no avail. Tyrion’s face paled, and he jumped off the horse before I could stop him. I yelled at him and asked him to come up, but he collapsed to the ground and started crying, scared of this woman that was coming nearer and nearer by the minute. I pointed my dagger to her but it didn’t phase her one bit. She kept yelling for blood, for a man named Marwyn and that her god had cheated her, played with her. While I fruitlessly tried to get Tyrion to calm down, the woman’s eyes went to my neck - to where Uncle Brynden’s gift, the bat-and-trout chain was hanging. That was when she came to a halt and started cackling harshly.  
  
She must have shouted “ _You!_ ” to me at least ten times. When that was done, she closed the distance between us, not afraid of the dagger that I had pointing to her throat. I don’t know how, but she  _knew_. It just felt like those yellow pools looked inside me, read me for whole. Somehow she knew I didn’t have the nerves to stab her even if she attacked me. She knew I was frozen in my spot. She knew I was afraid for Addam and the people the screams belonged to. She knew everything I was thinking about. Somehow, it even seemed like she knew that I am not in fact Lysa Tully, though that is who I have been for nearly a year.  
  
Only when the woman accused of changing colors did I feel marginally better.  _Changing colors_! That’s what she was paranoid about. She told me in her cracking voice how she could “tell no longer! Feel no longer! The colors have changed, they have changed, they have changed! Snow white to blackening like the flesh beneath and glistening gold to the red of fire, but between them lay the darkness of storms ‘stead of the blues of the sky! Onyx and onyx but no shade driving them apart, no, ‘tis the crystal rainbow even though the grasses stay!” Those words repeat in my head sometimes. The woman was clearly crazy, and I relaxed somewhat after hearing her rant, but then she had looked at Minisa Tully’s silver chain once more and then up in my eyes. “The colors are changing! Can you feel them change? Can you?” she demanded of me.  
  
I will never know what else she had to say to me, because without either of us realizing, Tyrion had stood up on the other side of the horse. He flung a rock towards the woman, whacking her in her face, and sent her weak body flying backwards. I have never been so thankful to him.  
  
Addam and the guards returned to see Tyrion and I on the horse, few feet away from the original place, while the rambling old codger had disappeared to wherever in the hells she had come from. Sneering Ser Preston wore a fearful look on his face, and refused to answer any of my calls, but looked around warily. He helped handle the two women Addam's company had with them, one severely burnt, the other clutching a barely year old boy. “It was the witch, Maggy,” Addam explained matter-of-factly. “She set her own tent on fire, and burnt down another settlement near hers.” The women and the baby had been the only survivors from said settlement. I cursed this witch Maggy then, thinking of her such a sadistic fool. I didn’t connect the dots until later when I inquired just who Maggy was - “A fortune-teller, didn’t you know?” wondered Lynora Hill, a Lannister cousin from her father’s side, though illegitimate. “They say she can tell you all that is to come, only at the price of a drop of blood. A  _maegi_ from Essos, they say.”  
  
The more and more I read about ‘maegi’s and what the woman in the woods had spoken about her god and blood magic, the more it made sense. She had been Maggy, the woman who had burnt down the tent and the settlement with it. The woman who had spoken of the changing of colours - she had been a fortune-teller, if at least half the Rock’s young women were to be believed.  _She_ had made the Sneering Ser forget the events that had transpired in the woods, for whenever I dared ask him, his expression blanked. He remembered nothing. He knew nothing. She was a murderer, a witch, and for a fleeting moment I wondered if she had the resources to tell me how I'd come to be in this strange world. Suffice to say that was only just a fleeting thought, for not only did the witch creep me out: I feared her, and I feared how unhinged she seemed. What could have happened to drive her this insane?

For the longest time it seemed like Tyrion hadn’t told anyone about the...  _encounter_ , and neither had I, but after silent treatment for nearly fifteen days, Jaime approached me. He told me he knew and tried to comfort me, steadily fumbling all the while. It was such an awkward attempt that I couldn’t help but laugh. Seriously, ignoring me for two weeks and then attempting to console me? It was just like him. I told him that while the witch wasn’t going to leave my nightmares any time soon, at least my days weren’t haunted by her face; instead, they were haunted by his. I asked him why he hadn’t spoken to me, why he had run away with his tail between his legs after the incident in the Stone Garden. I told him that what I had done there hadn’t been a joke, to which he cracked a smile but only responded with a mumbled “sorry”. He told me he would await me in the garden in the morning, and just like that, abrupt though it was, we were back to normal again, and that is how we’ve been for half a month. It’s not the best thing I could have hoped for, and I do find myself wanting more sometimes, but if for now this is all I’m getting, I accept it. We have years ahead of us for more.

Lady Genna turned thirty-six this month, so Casterly Rock held a feast to celebrate. It was… well, I think ostentatious is an understatement. Catelyn's nameday feast at Riverrun was like a soup kitchen supper in comparison. I hate to imagine being in charge of such affairs in the future - it was overwhelming, and only a nameday feast of the sister of the lord. I shudder to imagine what weddings must be like. I even helped plan it, counting numbers and giving suggestions where I was consulted. I think being good at math is pretty much one of my only redeeming qualities in Lady Genna’s eyes. That and the fact that I didn’t complain too much when she made me help Maester Creylen with the invitations for the feast. Every house in the Westerlands was invited, even some from the Reach and the Riverlands. Not all of them turned up, of course, but common courtesy asked that every house with close ties to Casterly Rock were given the option to celebrate the nameday with us.

The food and beverages were the best among all the day had to offer. This winter has nearly come to an end, and the merchants have brought plenty to eat and drink from Dorne and from across the Narrow Sea. Dornish Red wine, a particularly sour variety, was offered to everyone in large doses, as was Arbor Gold, which is rather like champagne. More than anything during the feast though I wished for beer, which unfortunately doesn’t seem to have been discovered yet. A pity if there ever was one.

I was introduced to many guests as well, lords and ladies and future lords and ladies I would be expected to entertain in the near future as the Lady of Casterly Rock. Some of them were charming enough, I suppose, but I found many of them to be the yes-men kind of people that have already made their presence clear around the Rock. They are the kind of people who will blindly agree with whatever Lord Monster says, and in his absence, Ser Kevan. A few of the younger men seemed interested in meeting their future liege lord’s future wife, but some of them didn’t bother hiding their disappointment, which Jaime was sure to subtly joke about all evening. Again, just like him. These heirs had all been the type to treat me like some dunce dimwit fit only for childbearing, and hadn’t liked it at all when I’d not given them complete attention. Narrow-minded people annoy me, and whatever disregard I was able to show some of them was worth Lady Genna’s fury the next day. How the woman had found out, only her seven gods knew.

Tytos Brax was probably one of the more decent heirs I spoke to during the feast, and I held a conversation with him for far longer than all the others combined. He even told me that his father had once approached Lord Hoster for a betrothal to me, something that, to my pleasant surprise, drove Jaime to scowl. What made me smile, albeit guiltily, was when the next day I heard how Tytos Brax had been thrashed heavily in the practice yard not only by a young squire named Sandor seven years his junior, but also Jaime himself.


	13. Twelve

**July 17, 2015**  
**Week 43, 281 AC**

It’s been a year. Wow.

A year since I first “came” to Westeros, and frankly it feels like more sometimes and less other times. I’m so used to seeing red hair and blue eyes in the mirror that being a blonde has become a distant memory. It almost feels like Lysa Tully and I are no longer two separate individuals, but in fact one wholly rounded person. I wonder whether that has more to do with the fact that I’ve spent considerable time here now, or whether over the last many weeks, I’ve become increasingly comfortable being… well, being Lysa Tully.

The past month was pretty much my final one in Casterly Rock for a long time. We are to spend a month - a  _month_! - travelling to the tourney, stopping on the way at minor holdfasts as well as larger castles for a day or so. This is Ser Kevan’s idea of trying to get Jaime to be more responsible about his duties as heir. The primary one in the Westerlands is Golden Tooth, where Alysanne Lefford, the only child and heir of Lord Leo, is to join us. Jaime admitted to me that Alysanne is somewhat of an excitable, clingy sort of girl which has left me praying that it isn’t me she clings to. Jaime on the other hand frowns when thinking of the journey, to my secret pleasure, as Tytos Brax and his brothers are, among other nobles, also set to join our entourage at Golden Tooth.

Ser Gerion has been tasked as a chaperone, which I can already tell won’t be the worst thing at all. He’s a loud, carefree man from what I’ve seen, and I just know he’ll make the trip enjoyable when Jaime has his mood swings. I had been hoping for Tyrion to come along, but not wholly surprisingly, Ser Kevan received a note from the capital written by his brother, instructing that under no circumstances was his “wretched son” to “shame House Lannister in the presence of hundreds of assembled lords and ladies”. My hatred for Lord Monster increased hundredfold on Jaime telling me the contents of the note. It is Tywin Lannister who shames his precious House by hiding his genius of a son from the world. What is worse is that no one even protested. It’s as if it’s simply a given fact that Tyrion is to be “protected” from everyone outside the Rock and Lannisport. It’s simply not fair.

The best part of the trip up the Riverroad is that it will end at Riverrun, after which we take lesser paths to Harrenhal. I wrote to Lord Hoster to tell him of our coming, and what I received in return was joy that he would meet his daughter and future good-son once more. To my questions regarding Catelyn and Edmure, he apparently regretted to tell me that they wouldn’t be accompanying me to the tourney on account of the wedding drawing close, but Uncle Brynden would. Lord Hoster certainly wasn’t happy about the last, and I had a guilty moment of happiness on learning that the old man had been defied once more by his brother. Still, the part about Edmure and Cat is strange - I would have thought their father would have jumped at a chance to use them to somehow further his own ambitions. I’ll have to ask Uncle Brynden about that.

The tourney itself is to last something like fifteen days. Jaime is as excited about it as I’m not, eager to prove himself deserving of his knighthood. He spends hours practicing with his lance and trouncing majority of his opponents in the yards like they’re nothing but flies to his lion. The pride of Casterly Rock, indeed. His excited talk about competing against the likes of Barristan the Bold and his own idol, Arthur Dayne, ‘the Sword of the Morning’, makes me exasperated sometimes. For his sake, despite my reservations about these events, I can’t help but wish that he gets to win something. He certainly has the skill for it.

I’m not the only person appreciative of Jaime’s way with weapons. One day in the Stone Garden, he asked me a peculiar question - if I could forsake everything in my regular life to become a part of something legendary, would I? I didn’t know what he had meant then, but I only told him that I would consider whether this legendary something was really legendary and worth forsaking everything for. Here’s something: Jaime’s not really someone for philosophical talk. I know that. I asked him flat-out where he was coming from, and after much hesitation and prodding, he showed me a letter thus far a secret, from the office of Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard of Aerys II Targaryen.

The Kingsguard is pretty much a glorified bodyguard for the ruling monarch, consisting of seven knights honoring the seven gods of the Faith. They are all highly skilled warriors from varied ranks of society, but there’s a catch: they can hold no titles or lands, and have to remain celibate for the rest of their lives. Even forswear all ties to family - though this may not be as strict, considering that Marq’s uncle, Ser Oswell Whent - a knight of the Kingsguard - is still very much a feature in their household. On reading the offer Jaime had received, my first reactions were pride and surprise. Certainly the king believed that Jaime was able enough to protect his family from threats, but how could he just appoint a fifteen-year old with lack of major experience to his personal guard? As prestigious as it is for Jaime, it also sounds rather reckless of the royal administration. If he were to accept, Tyrion would be heir to Casterly Rock, and I can’t imagine Lord Monster liking that very much - and he is the  _Hand of the King_. The Prime Minister equivalent. Jaime’s excitement was due to the fact that he was the youngest ever knight to be offered a position, but surely there had to be a reason for that. How had his father just agreed? Westeros works in different ways, but surely handing a newly knighted fifteen-year old such a huge responsibility was unheard of. There had to be a reason, but what was it?

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jaime so conflicted. I bombarded him with the questions buzzing through my mind and eventually he started doubting the motivations of the letter as well, though sometimes he acquired a faraway look in his eyes that made it seem like he was actually considering accepting. And in those moments, I admit, I didn’t feel fine at all. If he did become a Kingsguard, what would it mean for me? With a broken engagement, I would be back in Lord Hoster’s protection to use me to play his field. Once more I would be shoved towards a lordling with nothing on Jaime to play knights-and-maidens with. I was happy for him, yes, and proud as well - but there was still that part of me that didn’t want him to go.

Finally I convinced him to disclose the truth about the letter to Lady Genna and his uncles as soon as possible so that if I couldn’t help him make a decision, at least they would. All four of them were shocked and suspicious, even Ser Tygett who is usually nothing more or less than angry. Lord Monster did not know, or if he did, he hadn’t mentioned it to them. What followed was a loud discussion, with each of them talking over the other and debating the true reason for the appointment. What all agreed upon was that were Jaime to accept, he would playing right into the hands of King Aerys, and were he to decline, he would have to face the wrath of the man for not doing as was expected of him.

Still, there was no option, not really. All of them insisted that he say no. Ser Kevan spoke of how Tywin Lannister is the true power behind the Iron Throne and whatever backlash Jaime would receive would be handled by his father. There would be troubling issues that could come up was Jaime to say yes rather than no - the succession to the lordship, for one, as well as the betrothal tie to another Lord Paramount whose lands bordered their own. They were scared, I realised, when Jaime told me - they were scared for Tyrion, most of all, and scared that Lord Hoster might be bold enough to threaten their boundaries. 

Jaime himself wasn’t so easy to be convinced. He began spending more and more time in the practice yards thrashing poor squires as well as both incapable and experienced knights. He was without doubt able enough for the post, I knew, but all the while I could only hope that he would reject the offer. It was selfish of me, perhaps, but I hoped so all the same.

He yet hasn’t made up his mind.

Lady Genna ordered new dresses to be made for me so I wouldn’t shame House Lannister by dressing in “riverlander rags”, and my annoyance at some of the designs drove me to help the seamstresses with the patterns. One of them even assisted me in bettering my crooked stitches so I could show her my ideas better, and Lady Genna was so shocked by my considerably improved needlework that she rewarded the seamstress with a fat bag of Lannister gold. She can be surprisingly generous if she wants to. Another worker to receive such a fat bag was one of the apprentices of the master of horse, who along with Ser Gerion and Addam at my urgings produced a saddle that can be used by Tyrion to ride a pony all by himself. It was probably one of Jaime’s little brother’s crowning moments of happiness - he was wonderstruck and giddy with excitement on knowing that one of his dreams had been fulfilled. It was a proud moment for me, too, and Jaime’s approval at my role in the creation of the saddle kept me hopeful of his intentions regarding Lord Commander Hightower’s letter.

I was grilled endlessly by Lady Genna about courtesy and manners that I would have to show to the nobles at Harrenhal, but to my surprise she wasn’t so bad as she had been before, as I believe she too approved of my urging Ser Gerion and Addam to designing the saddle. She cares for Tyrion far more than most of the fools at the Rock - in fact, she cares about all her family (other than her husband that is) in a way that I suspect Lord Monster can never dream of. It’s one of her redeeming qualities.

I think I’m going to miss the westerlands while I’m at Harrenhal, to be honest. I know Harrenhal is going to be a good opportunity to learn more about this world, and I will be able to meet Edmure, Cat and Shirei on the way plus stay in Marq’s family’s castle for close to a month. I’ll even get to meet Cersei Lannister, who is making her way from King’s Landing for the tourney. I won’t have to meet Lord Monster either, who will be busy with his duties in the capital. All that I have going for me. What I’m less keen about, though, is King Aerys being there, and having to find out there finally what Jaime’s choice will be. I’d been bored and irritated at Lady Genna’s nameday feast, so I shudder to imagine the thought of hundreds of nobles that will interact with me. Everytime I think back to when Marq had told me of the castle, I have a reproachful pang in my chest. Nevertheless, I will have to go - it is far too late reconsider now. Lady Genna would not be pleased at all were I to stay back and without me there I fear what kind of decision Jaime might make.

We leave early tomorrow. There’s going to be Lannisport freeriders and knights joining us to try their luck at the tourney, even guards like Sneering Ser Preston. It is a strange assortment, from fresh-faced squires to repulsive bodybuilders masquerading as knights. My relief is that a giant brute of a man named Gregor Clegane, who is a Lannister bannerman, was commanded to stay at the Rock to handle a tax dispute nearby. That man scares me, and I don’t think I would have been able to stay at peace during the trip with his eyes sharply boring into my back. There are other brutes, of course, but none quite so fierce. I had been hoping that all of them would be asked to stay back, but no - I suspect their presence has been encouraged to scare off bandits. Tyrion seemed to be scared of these very men attacking us instead, all the while hugging Ser Gerion, Jaime and I and making us promise to come back soon. He’s going to be left alone for a long time. I almost volunteered to stay back at the Rock with him on looking at the pained expression on his face, but I know I can’t. To Harrenhal it is, for me - to Harrenhal and whatever awaits there...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end of the first arc of the series, concluding right before Harrenhal. Prologue + 12 entries was what had originally been planned. Hopefully, this was to all your liking.
> 
> The sequel to this will be titled _Uprising_ , and will start within the week. It will be written in a different manner than this story, in third person limited POV from various characters instead of the journal format. The first chapter will be titled "The Wolf-Maid", so you all can guess whose perspective it will be from ;)
> 
> Other POV characters as I've stated to reviewers are tentatively Jaime, Lysa, Marq and Stannis towards the tail-end. I might try to work in an Elia Martell chapter as well. If there are any suggestions or request, I'm willing to entertain them - always great to brainstorm!
> 
> Lastly, thank you for the immense support throughout. I am immensely glad to see the response this has got. My hope is that this response continues through future sequels as well :D


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